Four Eighteen
by SmokeyTV
Summary: An investigation gone wrong leaves Warrick, Grissom, and Brass in a race against time to find a missing Nick. Set sometime in the third season. Rating is for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my newest fic! It's going to be a multi-chapter one. A bit ambitious on my part, but I promise it will be updated regularly, so no worries about being left hanging. This first chapter is a little shorter than the others will be, but I hope you enjoy it! This is set sometime around the third season.**

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The sound of another car approaching reached Nick's ears. Number four. The far away hum of the engine became louder and louder as the car neared. His emotions fought again, just as they had when the other three cars had come…fear and hope battling it out inside of him. Were they coming back to make sure he was dead? Or was it someone else? Someone looking for him? He doubted it. Not yet. They wouldn't be this close to figuring out what happened to him or where he was. Just a random car then. The road obviously was one not traveled much, as evidenced by just four cars passing in…how long had it been? He couldn't be entirely sure, but it felt like hours. This car was bound to pass as the others had. They couldn't see him down where he was even if they _did_ stop to look…not even in the daylight, much less in this early dusk.

He lifted his head and listened as the car passed and the sound of the engine faded. He fought off the despair that was creeping into his heart. It was too soon for that. He needed to stay focused. There was no sense in wasting his energy trying to crawl up again…not in the darkness. He would wait until morning. His body shivered, and he tried not to think about how much colder it was bound to get as the night wore on. He hoped that at least the chilly air would help numb the pain in his ankle and leg. Right now it had subsided into a dull ache because he hadn't moved in so long. But he knew it would awaken with a vengeance the next time he tried to crawl. For that he needed rest, and resigning himself to his situation for now, Nick laid his head back down against the weeds and dirt and closed his eyes as somewhere in the trees a mourning dove called.

* * *

24 Hours Earlier

"What have we got, Jim?" Nick slammed the passenger door of the Denali shut as Warrick exited the driver's side.

Jim Brass was leaning against his own car, waiting for the two CSIs. He joined them in walking up to the prison gate as he explained, "Paul Keller…guard…whacked over the head with a crowbar. They've already taken him to the hospital, but the docs say death is imminent." He flashed his badge to the guard at the gatehouse and they were let in.

"Damn." Warrick joined the others in checking their weapons and presenting their ID badges for documentation. "Are we starting from scratch or are there suspects?"

"Oh yeah," Brass said. "There are suspects. Eleven of 'em just waiting for you."

"Eleven? Great." Nick said without enthusiasm as he signed the log book. He clipped his visitor ID badge to his shirt, then followed Brass and Warrick out of the gatehouse. But Brass turned right instead of heading toward the prison. "Aren't we going in?"

The captain stopped and shaded his eyes with his hand, shaking his head. He pointed to a small metal building not far from the gatehouse. The area was marked off, and several guards and prison officials were milling about. "Keller was supervising the storage shed in the yard. Looks like one of the inmates out here working needed something from out of there. None of the other guards saw anything out of the ordinary until a bunch of the other cons ran over there. Next thing you know they're all fighting and nobody knows where Keller's gun is…the guards ended up having to use a water cannon to get 'em under control."

"Did they find the weapon?" asked Warrick.

"Yeah…outside on the ground by the door. Couple of the officers here took some pictures and they secured it for you." Brass headed for the shed, the two CSIs close behind. He pointed to a larger building next to the shed. Two armed guards stood in front of it. "They've got the guys who were in the mob holed up there in the rec. building, waiting for you. You'll need to collect DNA."

"Rec. building?" Warrick wrinkled his face. "What is this? A country club?"

"Nah." Brass waved his hand. "Just a few pool tables…some cards…that kind of thing. Some of the cons earn time in there for good behavior."

"I assume 'good behavior' doesn't include clobbering a guard with a crowbar," said Nick.

"Exactly." Brass nodded to the guard at the shed and the three men were let inside. Despite what had happened, the interior of the building had a neat appearance. All of the tools seemed to be in place…except for the crowbar lying in the middle of the floor, a large smear of blood on the floor next to it. "Keller was lying here when they found him. It looked like there'd been a struggle, but the hit to his head was the only injury…well, almost."

"Almost?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah. You'll see." Brass walked back to the door. "So whichever one of them it was…some of the others either helped or got wind of it, 'cause it was a free for all when the other guards got here."

"So there's eleven of them? In the rec. room now?" asked Nick.

"Yep."

"I hate to state the obvious, Jim," Nick continued as he and Warrick followed the captain back outside, "but their prints are on file. We lift 'em from the crowbar and match them to one of the guys. Why are they waiting for us to collect their DNA?"

"Well," said Brass, "you can try for prints, but all these guys were working out here…had work gloves on."

"How's DNA gonna help?" asked Warrick. "Or do I wanna know?"

Brass stopped in between the two buildings and pointed to an upside down paper cup on the ground.

Nick and Warrick went over near the cup and leaned over to get a better look, then turned their heads to look at Brass. "Is that what I think it is?" asked Warrick with repulsion.

Brass nodded.

"Whose is it?" asked Nick as he stood back up, looking just as repulsed as Warrick. He opened his field kit and placed a marker next to the severed ear.

"Paul Keller's," answered Brass.

"And they found it out here? But his body was inside?" Warrick asked between snapping pictures of the ear.

"Yeah…it doesn't look like any of the altercation happened outside. No one saw anything out here until the rioting started. The attacker must have had it in his hand or pocket and threw it down…or spit it out."

Warrick looked confused. "So why didn't they just pick out the guy with the bloody mouth?"

"They _all_ have bloody mouths, Warrick," replied Brass. "They were fighting. Besides, they all got doused with hundreds of gallons of water. Any blood evidence is gone."

"Ah. Got it," said Warrick.

Nick used a pair of tweezers to pluck the ear from the ground. He swabbed it and placed the swab in its container, then put the ear into a plastic evidence bag. "I need the cooler to put this bag in."

"We just need to get the DNA off of it, man," said Warrick. "No need to preserve it. Keller ain't gonna need it anymore."

Nick shot a look at his friend. "They're gonna want it, Warrick," he said evenly as he stood up. Warrick sighed and the two men stared at each other for a minute before Nick said, "Never mind…I'll get it."

"Nick…"

"I _said_ I'll get it!" Nick called without looking around as he headed back to their truck. When he returned after having carefully placed the ear in a cooler with ice packs, Brass and Warrick were already inside the recreation building. Nick picked up his kit and went inside.

On the left side of the room, eleven men wearing wet blue jeans and orange t-shirts stood in a line against the wall. One uniformed guard stood at the back of the line and one at the front. On the right side of the room Brass stood next to an unarmed prison official in a suit. The captain introduced him as Alan Haynes, the yard supervisor. He would provide the identification of the men in line.

Warrick had his kit open on the table getting things set up. As Nick approached, Warrick said in a low voice, "We're collecting evidence, man…not prepping a body for a funeral." He laid out eleven bags and a log sheet for recording the swab evidence. When Nick did not respond, he added, "Okay…last one to get here…you get to do the swabbing." He looked up at Nick and grinned.

Nick tried to be serious, but he couldn't stay upset with his friend for long. He laughed a little but grimaced. "Great. Thanks." He sighed and looked up and down the line of prisoners. As Brass had said, there wasn't a bit of blood on any of them. But a buccal swab of their DNA would tell the tale. Any sign of Keller's blood in one of their mouths…or of their DNA on Keller's ear…and they would have their man. He tried to reserve judgment, but a few of the men stood out as looking surely _capable_ of biting a man's ear off before…or after…killing him.

Nick set his kit down on the table opposite of Warrick and opened it up. He removed a set of swabs and labeled tube containers. He opened one of the swab packages and the guard motioned for the first man, a dark haired Latino, slightly shorter than Nick, to step forward.

"Manny Juarez," said Haynes as he checked his roster. "ID 415765."

Nick noted the information on the first tube label and Warrick recorded it on his log sheet and on one of the evidence bags. The prisoner stepped up and stood defiantly with his mouth closed in front of Nick until the guard told him to open up.

"Yeah, that's what I said to your mama last night," the man said to the guard, but receiving no reply he complied and moved back to the end of the line as directed.

Nick snapped the swab into one of the tubes and handed it to Warrick, giving him a look that his partner knew all too well. _I'm gonna kill you for this. _Warrick just laughed as he took the tube and bagged it.

Haynes announced the next man in line as Lawrence Lambert, ID 625884. The tall, thin, pasty white man with glasses opened his mouth without being prompted and proceeded to say "Ahhhh" when Nick swabbed, as though he were at the doctor's office.

Warrick laughed again as Nick passed the tube to him. "Just think…only nine more to go."

Nick shook his head and turned to face Kevin Turner, ID 327418. As round as he was tall, the bald black man opened his mouth and exhaled, causing Nick to close his eyes for a moment and hold his breath, wrinkling his nose. He took the DNA sample as quickly as he could, but the man just stood there with his mouth open, emitting the foul odor. Nick smiled weakly. "That's okay, man…we're done. You can…uh…close up shop there."

"Ron Becker, ID 332715, step up," announced Haynes.

The man with shaggy blond hair hanging at his shoulders came forward. He was at least a head taller than Nick, with arms that bulged beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. His face seemed to be set in stone, and Nick expected to be hassled as he asked him to open his mouth, but to his surprise the man silently did as he was told.

Warrick wrote the prisoner's ID number on the log sheet but noticed that the one above it was missing a digit. "Hey, Nick…"

Nick snapped the tube shut and turned to face Warrick. "Yeah?" He saw the change in Warrick's face, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open, just milliseconds before he felt the tightening around his neck. Whatever it was that had him was squeezing harder and pulling him backwards. He dropped the swab and pried at his throat but was unable to dislodge the arm wrapped there. He felt the pressure of a large hand on the side of his head and struggled again to get away, but he was growing weaker as both his oxygen and blood supply to his brain were being cut off. A roaring noise filled his ears as he fought to stay conscious, but it wasn't loud enough to block out the only sound in the room.

"Nobody move! Or I swear to God I'll break his fuckin' neck!"

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**Well, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter enough to keep reading! Please sign up for story alerts if you'd like to be automatically notified when a new chapter is added. I hope to put up a new one weekly...two weeks at the most. And it will ****not ****be left unfinished, I promise you that.**

**I welcome any and all feedback and would love it if you would leave a review letting me know what you think. :-)**

**Oh...and if you haven't figured it out already, Four Eighteen (418) is Las Vegas police code for "missing person". ;-)**


	2. Chapter 2

_Nick snapped the tube shut and turned to face Warrick. "Yeah?" He saw the change in Warrick's face, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open, just milliseconds before he felt the tightening around his neck. Whatever it was that had him was squeezing harder and pulling him backwards. He dropped the swab and pried at his throat but was unable to dislodge the arm wrapped there. He felt the pressure of a large hand on the side of his head and struggled again to get away, but he was growing weaker as both his oxygen and blood supply to his brain were being cut off. A roaring noise filled his ears as he fought to stay conscious, but it wasn't loud enough to block out the only sound in the room._

"_Nobody move! Or I swear to God I'll break his fuckin' neck!"_

The pressure around Nick's neck let up a little, but he was still held tightly against the man behind him. His eyes looked frantically around the room as he tried to figure out what was happening. He saw that one of the guards had the other ten prisoners cornered at gunpoint in the back of the room. The other guard's gun…the only other weapon in the room…was aimed at Nick. More precisely, it was aimed at Ron Becker, but that was a minor detail considering the two men at this point were inseparable.

To the guards, Becker shouted, "Guns on the table! Now! Guns on the table!"

The guards did not move, and Brass began to speak, softly and calmly, "C'mon now, Ron…let's just…"

But Becker's response was to tighten the grip of his arm around Nick's neck. His other hand was still positioned across Nick's forehead, and Becker gave a sudden quick jerk, twisting the CSI's head sharply to the left, causing Nick to cry out in pain as he struggled to get free. "On the table _now_!"

"Okay…okay…just take it easy." Brass nodded at the guards and they put their guns on the table.

"Manny!" Becker shouted without taking his eyes off of the men in front of him. "You in?"

Manny Juarez called out from the back of the room, "Hell yeah!"

"Get the guns."

Juarez quickly snatched up the weapon the guard at the back of the room had put down. Then he ran to the front of the room to grab that gun as well. He slid it into the waistband of his jeans and backed up, taking a position next to Becker, the other gun aimed at Brass, Warrick, and the yard supervisor, Alan Haynes.

Becker looked at Nick and then at Brass and Warrick. "How'd you guys get here? You drive? You got a car? Huh?"

"Yeah…yeah, Ron," Brass replied, speaking slowly, his hands up in front of him. "We drove. You want out of here? You let him go…and I'll give you my keys. Okay?"

"I don't want a fucking _cop_ car! You think I'm stupid? Huh?" Becker looked at Warrick. "You…give him your keys." He tilted his head toward Juarez.

Still stunned by what was taking place, Warrick opened his mouth to say something and looked from Becker to Brass, but before he could speak Becker was shouting again.

"_Now_! Give him the fuckin' keys _now_!" Becker tightened his hold on Nick's neck as he wrenched his head to the left once more. "I'm not kidding…I'll break the son of a bitch's neck!"

Nick cried out again and his arms flailed against the man's arm as it gripped his neck harder. But it was a useless effort. He let out another cry as the man gave another strong yank to his head.

"Here! Here!" Warrick pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Juarez who caught them with ease.

"Okay, Ron," said Brass. "You've got the guns and you've got a car. Now just let him go and you and Manny here can leave. We'll make sure you have a clear way out, right?" He looked at Haynes who nodded.

Becker ignored the captain and barked at the guard. "You! Give him your cuffs!" He nodded at Juarez again and the man stepped forward, gun aimed at the guard who was fumbling to unhook the handcuffs from his belt. Juarez took the cuffs and handed them to Becker who instructed, "Keep 'em covered," as he eyed Brass and the others.

Juarez did as he was told, holding the gun out even farther and moving it back and forth, aiming it at the each of the four men in front of him.

Becker had used his left hand to take the handcuffs, and now he finally moved his right arm, letting go of Nick's neck, but he grabbed him by the back of the shirt now and pushed him toward the table.

Nick had gasped with relief as he was released and was able to at last take in some air, but his relief was short-lived as Becker shoved him face down over the table. The man held him in place with one hand against his back and used the other to pull Nick's right arm up and behind him. Nick felt the cold steel of the handcuff snapping tightly around his wrist. _Oh shit._ He turned his eyes upward and looked at Brass and Warrick, silently begging them to do something…anything…as his left arm was pulled back and cuffed as well.

"Ron…buddy…c'mon," Brass addressed the con. "You don't need him. Just go. You're making this worse than it has to be. Leave him here and go on…get out of here."

Becker continued to ignore the captain as he patted Nick down, taking his radio and cell phone off of him and putting them on the table. "Won't be needing these," he mumbled half to himself.

Brass looked at Juarez who still had them at gunpoint. "Manny…you don't want to be a part of this, do you?" He thought he saw the man's stern expression waver somewhat, so he pressed harder. "He's gonna get you killed, Manny. You leave here right now, and I guarantee…one way or another, you're dead."

Juarez looked from the men to Becker and back again, but continued to hold the gun steadily aimed.

"C'mon, Manny…do the right thing."

"Shut up!" Juarez shouted back at him, although the hand holding the gun seemed to be shaking slightly now.

Becker held out a hand to Juarez and demanded, "Gimme the other gun." Juarez pulled the gun out of his waistband and handed it to him. Becker grabbed Nick by one arm and pulled him upright, both of his hands now cuffed behind him. Becker put his left arm around Nick's neck again and with his right hand aimed the gun at Haynes. "You…call 'em. Call 'em all and tell them to leave us the fuck alone when we leave here." He then stuck the gun in Nick's neck just below his chin. "C'mon! Do it!"

Brass nodded at Haynes who then pulled out his radio. Keeping his eye on the two gunmen, he spoke. "All units…all units…CO142…we have a Code Twenty in the rec. building. Hostage situation. Be advised…subjects are leaving the area…armed and dangerous. All units are instructed to stand down. Repeat…stand down."

"That's it?" asked Becker.

Haynes nodded. "That's it. They'll let you go."

The prisoner gave him a hard stare. "Manny…check it out."

As Juarez went to the window to look outside, Nick felt the gun pressing harder against his neck. His heart was pounding with fear as he tried to keep from panicking. But it was looking certain that they intended to take him with them.

After looking out the window, Juarez opened the door a crack and peeked out. He stuck his head out farther and looked around, then closed the door and reported back to Becker. "Looks good. The ones I seen had their hands out in front of them. No guns."

Becker grinned. "I guess we're outta here then." He began to back away toward the door, pulling Nick with him, gun still under his chin.

Nick was unable to keep the panic at bay now. _No…no…no…no._ He fought to keep from being dragged, but it was no use. His terrified eyes locked onto Brass and he pleaded desperately, "Jim…"

As Becker reached the door, Brass called out, "This is your last chance, Ron! Leave him here…we'll let you go. But if he's with you…I got no choice. We're coming after you. It won't end good, Ron."

Becker looked back as Juarez opened the door for them. He laughed. "I told you…I ain't stupid. If I didn't have him with me, _that's_ when you try to run us off the road. _That's_ when you got snipers trying to take me out." He shook his head. "Uh uh…" He pulled Nick closer. "You ain't gonna try any of that shit…long as I got your boy here." He backed out of the door to join Juarez outside and the door closed behind them.

As soon as the door shut, Haynes was on his radio again. "Units 2 and 4…in the rec. building…now!" A few seconds later two guards entered the building and drew their weapons, containing the remaining prisoners in the back of the room.

Brass and Warrick went to the window to look out. They could see that the three men were almost to the gatehouse.

Warrick slammed his hand against the wall. "Damn it, Jim! We're just gonna sit here and let them go?"

"We'll get 'em," the captain answered as he turned his back and took out his radio to call in the situation."

* * *

Becker's group made their way through the gatehouse without incident. As they exited into the parking lot, Becker took the gun away from Nick's face and removed his arm from around the CSI's neck, grabbing him by the arm. "All right…which one is it?" When Nick did not respond, he said, "Manny? Got the keys?"

Juarez held the keys out in front of him and pushed the lock button on the remote twice. They heard a chirping sound and saw the lights on the Denali flash.

Becker looked at Nick and grinned. "Nice ride!" He pulled him by the arm and pushed him in front of him. "Let's go."

Juarez unlocked the doors and got into the driver's seat. Becker opened the back door and shoved Nick toward it. "Get in."

Nick turned to look at the man and instead found himself looking into the barrel of Becker's gun. He raised his eyes to look beyond him, back toward the prison, but saw no activity…no one coming after them. He looked back at Becker who was staring at him expectantly, and he then got into the back seat.

"Good boy!" Becker reached into the truck and hooked the seat belt through Nick's handcuffed arms and latched it, then closed the door and went around to the other side to get in.

Once Becker was inside, Juarez hit the button to lock all of the doors, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot.

* * *

High Desert State Prison was located approximately 40 miles northwest of Las Vegas on US-95. Jim Brass knew that Becker wasn't likely to head back to the city, head-on into all of the police cars that would be coming out that way. So he and Warrick pulled out of the prison lot and headed north on 95.

"C'mon, Arch…gimme somethin'," Warrick said into his cell phone as Brass drove as fast as he safely could. "I need a fix on that GPS."

"I'm trying," Archie responded. "Looks like…yeah…you're close…about a couple of miles northwest of your location. But…"

"But what? C'mon, man…"

Archie sighed. "It's stopped moving."

"What?"

"Either the car is stopped…" Archie began.

"Or they threw it out the window," Warrick finished. "Damn!"

"I'm sorry."

Warrick rubbed his eyes with his hand. "Okay…okay…just…lemme know when we're getting close."

"You got it."

* * *

"Any other ways they can track us?"

Nick looked at Becker who was sitting beside him and said nothing.

Becker laughed. "Okay…have it your way. But unless they got a microchip in you or something, they're gonna be out of luck." He looked at Juarez. "Let's find us a new ride, Manny."

The sign welcoming them to Indian Springs read "Population 1,307". Juarez turned left off of the highway and slowly navigated the narrow streets of the little town. The afternoon sun was getting low in the west, and what few shops there were on the main drag had either already closed or were about to do so. A few people still walked the street, however, children in tow, heading back to their cars or somewhere for dinner.

"Turn up here," instructed Becker. "Too many rich assholes out this way…fancy cars and all the shit that comes with 'em."

Juarez turned the car down a side street and cruised slowly, looking left and right. He drove several blocks off of the main street and sure enough found that the buildings and cars were not as well-kept in this section of town. "How about over there?" he asked, pointing to a small grocery with a few cars in the lot.

Becker craned his neck to see. "Yeah…yeah…that's good. Park over there by that Escort."

The older, 4-door, car was parked by itself on the far side of the grocery lot. Juarez pulled the Denali into a parking spot in front of and to the left of the car, essentially blocking the view of it from the storefront.

"Get out and take a look."

Juarez did as he was told and got out of the truck. He walked around it to the Escort, stopping to peer over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming. Satisfied, he circled the car, leaning over to have a look inside. After checking it out from several angles, he went back to the passenger side of the Denali.

Becker unlocked his door and opened it. "Well?"

"Looks good…no GPS…nothing fancy…hell, it ain't even got a CD player!" he laughed.

"What about gas?"

Juarez went back and opened the front door, then leaned in to check the gauge. Leaving the door open, he returned and said, "Almost full."

"Think you can get it started?"

"Hell yeah!" Juarez answered.

"Let's get going then." Becker leaned over and unfastened the seatbelt that was hooked between Nick's hands and grabbed him by the arm, then pulled him harshly across the seat and out of the truck.

_Fuck._ "Hey…hey, Ron," Nick said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Make it easier on yourself and just leave me here, okay?"

"Shut up." Becker opened the back door of the car and pushed Nick toward it.

"I mean it, man. You guys can just get out of here. They'll come find me here with the truck and you'll be long gone."

"Yeah, and you'll be sure to tell them what we're driving and which way we went, right?" Becker sneered.

Nick shook his head. "No…no, I'll…"

"Hey!" A female voice shouted, interrupting them. "What the hell are you doing to my car?"

Juarez got out of the driver's seat and waited for the middle-aged, petite blonde to approach. "Hi, ma'am…we just uh…noticed you have a flat here."

"How the hell you think you're fixing a flat by getting inside my car?" she demanded as she walked behind the Denali and toward the men.

"Get out of here, lady!" Nick yelled at her as she came closer. "Run!"

"What the…?" But before she could finish her sentence or move, Juarez had her by the arm, his gun in her side.

"Keep quiet….and gimme the keys," he hissed. The woman tried to pull away, but he held fast to her arm and jerked her back toward him. "Now! Hurry up!"

She whimpered as she tried to reach into her purse to find the keys. "Okay! Okay! Please…stop it…you're hurting me!"

"I said hurry up!" Juarez yanked her arm again, causing her to cry out.

"Hey, take it easy, man!" Nick made a move toward them but Becker grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Nick made a quick move, however, and broke free, stepping in between the woman and Juarez.

"Back off!" Juarez shoved Nick hard with the hand that held the gun.

As the CSI stumbled backward, Becker grabbed him by the back of the neck and hurled him against the Denali. Nick's head cracked against the window and left a bloodstain there as Becker pulled him away from the truck and then slammed him against the vehicle again, this time face first, leaving more blood on the window.

The woman screamed and Juarez hit her across the face with the gun, causing her cheek to split open. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" he yelled as he held the gun over her, threatening to strike again. But she cowered away from him, crying, and did not scream anymore. "Where are the fuckin' keys?" She thrust her purse at him, and he snatched it off of her arm and dumped the contents out onto the ground. "Get down there and find them!" Juarez let go of her arm and gave her a hard shove to the ground where she frantically searched through the items.

Becker still held a dazed Nick by the back of the neck and now shoved him toward the open backdoor of the car again. "Get in there!" Nick's head hit the top of the window frame as Becker pushed him, and as he started to fall Becker gave him another push, knocking him into the backseat and onto the floor of the car. Becker hopped in after him. "Come on, man…hurry up! Let's go!" He slammed the door shut behind him.

The woman had finally found her car keys and she held them up in a shaky hand to Juarez. He grabbed them away from her as she sat crying on the ground, holding her hand to her bleeding face. He jumped into the front seat of the car and closed the door, putting the key into the ignition.

Nick was crumpled onto the floor of the backseat, face down, trying to stay conscious, but his head ached fiercely. He heard the engine start and the front window roll down. The crack of a single gunshot caused him to jump, and he felt Becker's foot come down hard on the back of his neck. The car began to move, and Nick gave in and lost his battle to stay awake.

As the car pulled away, the middle-aged, petite, blonde woman lay motionless on the ground, her sightless eyes staring up at the darkening sky. Beside her, in a pool of blood, lay a white, plastic rectangle with a single word on it. "Visitor".

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**Thank you SO much to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review and/or sign up for alerts! It really means a lot to me! :-) I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please take a moment to leave some feedback if you're so inclined. Thanks!**

**And I meant to mention before, the time setting for this one (around Season 3) was meant to make this a Nick who is somewhere between "Crying at Gunpoint Nick" and "Kills a Serial Killer While Lying Bleeding on the Floor Nick", if that makes any sense. ;-) **


	3. Chapter 3

_Nick was crumpled onto the floor of the backseat, face down, trying to stay conscious, but his head ached fiercely. He heard the engine start and the front window roll down. The crack of a single gunshot caused him to jump, and he felt Becker's foot come down hard on the back of his neck. The car began to move, and Nick gave in and lost his battle to stay awake._

_As the car pulled away, the middle-aged, petite, blonde woman lay motionless on the ground, her sightless eyes staring up at the darkening sky. Beside her, in a pool of blood, lay a white, plastic rectangle with a single word on it. "Visitor". _

Brass and Warrick found the Denali's GPS exactly where Archie had said it would be…3.6 miles south of Indian Springs and 77 feet off the west side of US-95. It didn't take them long to stop or for Warrick to run and retrieve it, but they knew they were losing precious time. And daylight.

Warrick got back into the car and slammed the door, then hit the dashboard with a closed fist. "Damn it!" He was breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face.

Brass gave the younger man a moment before he spoke. "We're gonna find him, Rick."

Warrick shot the captain an angry look. "Yeah? How? They're miles ahead of us now and God knows in which direction! Jesus, Jim, they could have turned north and headed up toward Area 51. They could be headed west and crossing into Death Valley. Shit…they might have doubled back and be going the other way by now!" He hit the dashboard again and turned away from Brass to stare out the window.

Brass let out a sigh. "Okay…let's just…" He looked up the road and sighed again. "Let's pull over in town up here…wait for Grissom to catch up with us and then figure this thing out."

"No one else is coming?"

"Not to search. Nevada State Police and Highway Patrol are on alert and cruising the roads," answered Brass. "That's it until we have something to process or a lead to follow. I'll call Gil and tell him where we're going."

* * *

Sergeant Lars Kinsey had worked for the Indian Springs Police Department for seventeen years, so he was used to working with the LVPD. It wasn't often that they needed to call them to come up for anything, as the crime rate in the little town was rather low. But it was still a part of Clark County, and now and then something happened that required their assistance. Today was one of those days.

"Jim! Good to see you again!" The 45-year-old officer greeted the captain as he entered the station.

"Lars," Brass said as he shook the man's hand. He then introduced Warrick.

"Nice to meet you," said Kinsey with a smile. "So! You guys got up here pretty quick."

"Got up here…? You were expecting us?" asked Brass.

"Well…yeah." The officer looked confused. "But we just put the call out about twenty minutes ago. I didn't expect you this soon."

"Call for what?"

"The carjacking…lady got killed over at the Midway Market." Kinsey led the two men into his office and they sat down at his desk as he took a seat behind it. "You know, we only get one…maybe two homicides a year here, and they're usually domestic…you know, people who know each other. This one looks pretty random."

"I'd like to help you out, Lars," said Brass as he leaned forward in his chair, "but that's not why we're here."

"No? Oh…well…I guess somebody will be here in a bit then, huh?" Kinsey said, smiling again. "So what brings you up here then?"

"Had a couple of guys break out of High Desert about an hour and a half ago."

"Oh yeah." Kinsey's face grew serious. "We heard about that…had the Highway Patrol come through here a bit ago…but generally anybody runnin' would go on by here…too risky to pull off into this little place so close to the prison."

"They've got one of my guys with 'em," said Brass.

"Aw shit."

"Yeah…took off in his Denali. I figured they headed north 'cause…"

"Denali?" interrupted Kinsey. "Black one?"

Brass and Warrick looked at each other and Warrick answered, "Yeah…why?" But they already knew the answer.

Kinsey sighed. "A black Denali was found parked next to the carjacking victim."

* * *

"Paula Davenport." Gil Grissom held the Nevada drivers license up, shining his Maglite on it as he examined it.

"Single mom," said Kinsey. "Got two little ones…they were spending the night with her folks tonight." He shook his head. "That…was a tough one…telling them about this."

The coroner had just left with the body. Grissom crouched down to examine the other scattered items from the woman's purse. He wrinkled his brow. "What's this?" After photographing the item, he used tweezers to pick up the blood covered, once white, visitor's tag.

"No idea," said Kinsey.

"It's Nick's." Brass approached the men. "From the prison. It was clipped to his shirt."

Grissom stood up, looking grim, and bagged the item. "Sara? Anything in the truck?"

Sara Sidle looked up from the back seat of the Denali, flashlight in hand, and shook her head. "Nothing inside. But…" She aimed the light at the front passenger side window, illuminating the dried blood there.

Grissom nodded. "It's not splatter from gunshot. She was on the ground when it happened."

"I'll swab it," said Catherine Willows as she climbed out of the front of the vehicle. "Nothing in the front seat either." She moved around to the other side of the truck and set her kit down, preparing to take the evidence.

"Can you two finish up here if Brass and Warrick and I go back to the station with Sergeant Kinsey?" asked Grissom.

Catherine shot him an annoyed look but assured him that she and Sara would be fine.

"Catherine, I told you…"

"I _know_ what you _told_ me," she said as she turned back to finish swabbing the blood. "Doesn't make it any better."

"You two were coming up here for the carjacking anyway," he said.

"That's before we knew it was connected to Nick's abduction."

"It's even more important now. We have to get the evidence back to the lab and get it analyzed…see if it can help us find them."

Catherine turned to face him again and said in a low, even voice, "Gil, nothing here is going to tell us where they went. This is bullshit, sending us back to Vegas with a carload of crap that's only going to tell us what we _already_ know. The bastards pulled over, killed that innocent woman for her _car_, and left with Nick again. I want to help _find_ him."

Grissom moved in closer to her. "And you will," he said quietly. "But we can't all be out here driving up and down the roads looking everywhere. Someone needs to be processing whatever we find as fast as we find it. And digging up more information back at the lab."

"And that 'somebody' is me and Sara?" Catherine's face was stern, but her eyes were tearing up.

"Warrick was there when it happened…he's already involved."

"What about you?" she asked.

"I have to be here. I'm the supervisor, Catherine. This is my job. He's my responsibility."

"Since when?" she shot back. "You never seemed to care much about him before."

Grissom stepped back, looking and feeling as if he'd been slapped. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is!' she spat back. "You _know_ it, Gil. You…"

"Uh…guys?" Sara stood next to them, her eyes darting from one to the other. When they looked at her, she said, "I think we're done here."

Catherine looked back at Grissom. "Yeah. I think we are." She leaned over to bag the swabs she'd collected and then picked up her kit, turned, and walked away.

"Catherine…" Grissom tried to get her attention.

Without looking back, she called out, "Just keep us posted."

He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

Sara looked at him, not sure what to say. She wasn't any happier than Catherine about being sent back to the lab while the rest of the team was out searching. But she knew someone had to do it, and deep inside she knew that although it didn't feel like it right now, it was an important part of the process…something that could eventually lead to finding Nick. So she simply said, "Good luck," and followed Catherine to the car.

* * *

It had to have been a freight train. That could be the only explanation for the aching in Nick's head. And for the darkness. And for the fact that his body was twisted and crammed into a space not meant for a person of his size. He lifted his head slowly to look around, wincing as he felt a cut on his forehead open up. He tried to bring a hand up to his face but felt the resistance of cold, hard steel prevent him from doing so. Momentary terror and panic overtook his heart and he struggled furiously to try to free his hands before he suddenly remembered where he was…and why. But that realization did little to ease his anxiety.

The car was not moving and there was no one else in it. At least there was no one else in the backseat. Of that Nick was sure, but although there were no sounds in the car, it was possible that Manny…or someone else…was in the front seat. He lay still, listening for any movement or sound…even that of breathing…but there was only silence. Surely they hadn't left him here alone? It seemed that way, but he knew that if they had left him alone, even thinking that he was still unconscious, that they wouldn't be far away. And he was right.

* * *

The floodlight at the top of the pole twenty feet from the trailer suddenly lit up the area, and the trailer's front door opened. The thirty-something man who looked out the door squinted and then stepped back at little. "Ron…what uh…" He leaned forward and looked outside to the left and then to the right of the door. "What are you doing here, man?" He knew Ron Becker shouldn't be at his door right now. And he was sure the same could be said of the other man standing nervously behind Becker wearing a matching orange t-shirt.

"Hey, Cody!" Becker grinned. "Long time no see!"

Cody Walsh swallowed hard. _Shit_. He knew this would happen one day. A short stint in the Clark County lockup a year ago had left him acquaintances with Becker…and owing him a favor. But after Becker was convicted for his third assault plus attempted murder, Walsh had thought he had seen the last of the man. Until now. "What's going on?"

Becker leaned in closer. "I need a little help, man. You're cool with that, right?" he said with a wink.

"Depends."

"It's nothin', man…don't worry. Look, me and my buddy here…Manny…hey, Manny. This is Cody…an old friend of mine."

Manny Juarez nodded at Walsh and stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, then looked around nervously.

"So me and Manny need a place to stay tonight. That okay with you?" Becker locked eyes with the man.

Walsh stared back, then looked from Becker to Juarez and back again. "Yeah…yeah, sure."

* * *

Nick, satisfied that there was no one else in the car, or at least satisfied enough to risk it, slowly lifted himself up off of the backseat floorboard and cautiously looked around. He was alone. But through the window, about thirty feet away, he saw the two escapees standing on the steps of an old trailer talking to a third man. The area was illuminated by a floodlight, but the light just barely reached the car which was parked parallel to the trailer, the passenger side facing it. Everywhere else Nick looked was dark…no other homes…no lights…just a barely perceptible tree line a short distance away.

Keeping his head low, Nick looked at the door behind him on the driver's side of the car. It was locked, of course, but it had an automatic door lock button on the armrest next to the power window button. He cast another look at the trailer where the men still stood talking, Becker's and Juarez's backs to the car. _Now or never._ Using his still-cuffed hands, Nick backed up to the door and hit the button, then was rewarded with the sweet sound of the door unlocking. Keeping his eyes on the men outside, he grasped the door handle and pulled it. To his horror, as the door opened the dome light inside the car came on. There was no way he could reach it with his hands bound behind him, so he quickly scrambled backward out the door and onto the ground. He used his shoulder to slowly and quietly push the door closed, but it did not close all the way. _Shit._ He sat on the ground and leaned against the door with his back, digging into the ground with his feet and pushing, desperately hoping it would close all the way, but it refused. A quick glance above his head confirmed his fear. The light was still on. _Fuck it._ Nick hurriedly got to his feet and made a run for the trees.

* * *

**Bit of a cliffhanger, eh? Sorry about that! Hope you enjoy the chapter. :-) Thanks to everyone who is still reading and especially reviewing! **


	4. Chapter 4

_Keeping his head low, Nick looked at the door behind him on the driver's side of the car. It was locked, of course, but it had an automatic door lock button on the armrest next to the power window button. He cast another look at the trailer where the men still stood talking, Becker's and Juarez's backs to the car. Now or never. Using his still-cuffed hands, Nick backed up to the door and hit the button, then was rewarded with the sweet sound of the door unlocking. Keeping his eyes on the men outside, he grasped the door handle and pulled it. To his horror, as the door opened the dome light inside the car came on. There was no way he could reach it with his hands bound behind him, so he quickly scrambled backward out the door and onto the ground. He used his shoulder to slowly and quietly push the door closed, but it did not close all the way. Shit. He sat on the ground and leaned against the door with his back, digging into the ground with his feet and pushing, desperately hoping it would close all the way, but it refused. A quick glance above his head confirmed his fear. The light was still on. Fuck it. Nick hurriedly got to his feet and made a run for the trees_

Nick tried to stay low as he ran across the dark, grassy terrain, but with his hands behind his back it was difficult. He fell at one point and hit the ground rolling but managed to use the momentum to get himself upright again and keep moving.

Cody Walsh was still talking to Ron Becker and Manny Juarez on the steps of his trailer when he noticed something odd at the end of the lane. "That your car?"

Becker laughed. "It is now!"

"Didn't get your door shut all the way," Cody said as he nodded toward the car. "That light'll run your battery dead."

Becker and Juarez both turned around to look. A split second after seeing the car their eyes darted to the right, spotting the rapid motion of Nick's shape in the dark.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Becker cursed as he and Juarez both leapt off of the stairs and began to run across the field.

Nick was very close to the trees now, and Juarez had quickly closed the gap between the two of them to half the distance, then a quarter, leaving Becker behind. The larger man stopped, gasping for breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees, and cursed the extra pounds he had picked up in prison. He watched as the first dark shape disappeared into the trees, followed closely by the second.

* * *

Warrick Brown raised his eyes up from the laptop computer he was using and looked at Jim Brass who was sitting in the corner of Sergeant Kinsey's office. The captain's eyes were closed, and every few seconds his head would drop forward slowly and then jerk upward again. Warrick couldn't help but smile a little, despite the situation they were in. "Hey…Jim…Jim!"

Brass started and looked up and around the room. When he saw Warrick looking at him, he blinked several times. "Yeah…Rick…what…did you find something?"

"No." The CSI shook his head. "Becker's folks are dead. He's got one brother out in St. Louis, but…that guy looks pretty clean…doubt if he'd go there, at least not right away. And Juarez…looks like he doesn't have any ties at all…no family…nothing. Can't find anything on him. Maybe Archie will have more luck."

The captain nodded, stifling a yawn.

"Hey, why don't you go catch a few Z's on the couch in the break room?"

"Nah." Brass waved him off. "I'm good."

"You might be good now, but what about in the morning? We've got those interviews at High Desert first thing. C'mon, I'm gonna knock off for a few hours too." Warrick stood up and closed the laptop. "Archie's gonna run the rest of the checks for us tonight." He checked his watch. "Maybe we'll have some more to go on then."

"Yeah…yeah…you're probably right about getting some rest. Where's Grissom?"

"Over in dispatch with Kinsey," Warrick replied as they left the office.

* * *

Nick heard the shouting and the steps behind him getting closer as he ducked into the trees. If he could just get in there a little farther, then maybe…just maybe he could hide until they gave up looking for him. But as dark as it was crossing the field, it was even darker among the trees, and he found himself stumbling and tripping every few feet. Trying to navigate without falling slowed him down considerably, and it was a matter of less than a minute after entering the wooded area that he felt a hard shove to his back and he fell face forward onto the ground with Juarez on top of him. His breath knocked out of him, he lay there as he felt Juarez get up. The sound of a gun cocking broke through the quiet darkness.

"Get up!" Juarez ordered as he stood over Nick with the gun aimed at him. He gave him a swift kick in the side for emphasis. As Nick struggled to get up, an effort made more difficult without the use of his arms, Juarez demanded again, "I said get up!" and threw another kick, this time catching the vulnerable CSI in the stomach and knocking him onto his back.

Nick winced as he landed on his cuffed hands. Moaning, he instinctively curled his body up and away from the assault, but Juarez reached down and grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up to his knees. Nick looked up. The image of the escaped prisoner was barely discernable, but the gun…mere inches from his face…glinted in a ray of moonlight that suddenly broke through the trees.

"Get _up_!"

"Just let me go…you don't need me anymore…please," Nick pleaded breathlessly.

"Let you go? So you can tell them where we are?" Juarez laughed. "Yeah, right. C'mon…up."

Nick shook his head. "No…no, I won't tell them. Besides, you'll be long gone before I get out of here…or before anyone finds me."

"No can do, my man." Manny stepped closer, the growing moonlight now reflecting on his face.

"Come on, Manny…you got away, man. Just go. Get out of here. He's gonna take you down with him. You're making this way worse than it has to be."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I _killed_ that bitch! How much worse can it get?"

"No…" Nick shook his head again. "It's not your fault. He made you do it…he made you do everything. Just…if you just…I'll tell them, okay? I'll make sure they know."

Juarez did not reply, but his face softened a little as if he were considering Nick's words.

"Manny…listen to me, man…please…just let me go. He'll never know. Just say you couldn't find me. Say I got away. Please." Nick was starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded.

Juarez turned and looked back in the direction in which he had come. He could not see out into the field, and he knew Becker could not see into the trees. He looked back at the man he had on his knees at gunpoint, but continued to stay silent.

_Almost…almost._ "Manny…you guys are gonna get caught eventually, with or without me, but if you let me go now…it's gonna go easier on you." _Please._ "I'll tell them you let me go. They'll go easy on you…I swear it…please." Nick stared up with hopeful, desperate eyes.

Juarez looked nervously behind him again and then at Nick. He hesitantly lowered the gun a little more, but suddenly jerked it back up as a loud voice echoed through the woods.

"Manny! Where the fuck are you?"

Nick felt the last of his hope dwindling away as Juarez held the gun out steady again, the determined look back on his face. "Please…this might be your only chance, Manny…please."

"Get up!"

* * *

Gil Grissom leaned back in his chair, chewing on one earpiece of his glasses as he listened to the radio reports coming in to the Indian Springs Police dispatcher. The Nevada State Police and Highway Patrol had set up roadblocks at intersections along the major routes leading away from High Desert State Prison, but so far there had been no sign of Paula Davenport's stolen Ford Escort…or of the escaped inmates…or of Nick.

"Mr. Grissom?"

Sergeant Lars Kinsey's voice brought the CSI back from his thoughts. "Hmm? Oh…uh…" He shook his head to clear it and then said, "Just Grissom is fine. Or Gil."

"Okay then…Gil," Kinsey said with a smile. "I was just saying…they've got blocks on 95 all the way up to Beatty. Also on 160 South to Parhump. And 373 South to the state line near Death Valley and the Funeral Mountains Wilderness Area. And they're watching 95 back to Vegas too."

"Good…that's good."

"But?" asked Kinsey, sensing the other man's uncertainty.

Grissom sighed and said, "You and I both know they aren't on the major highways. And there are too many back roads off of them to cover."

Kinsey nodded, looking solemn. "I know."

"We need to get inside their minds and figure out where they would go and why. Becker…he's in charge…he's the one we need to focus on."

"Well, I know you've got all your guys working on figuring that out." Kinsey stood up. "I'm gonna get some coffee. Want some?"

Grissom shook his head.

"Look, Mr….Gil…, we'll figure this out. From what I hear, your team is top notch."

Grissom looked up at him. "The best."

* * *

Nick almost had him, and then he lost him. His heart sank when he heard Becker call out, and it dropped even more when Juarez ordered him again to stand up. The man had seemed to be listening to Nick's reasoning…considering the option of letting him go…but that all ended with Becker's shout. Nick got to his feet and looked Juarez in the eye for a split second before the man urged him on, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him in front as they moved out of the trees and into the clearing.

Becker saw them coming and he began moving toward them. As the two men neared, he stepped up his pace, and by the time he met up with them he was nearly running. He threw both hands out in front of him and hit Nick full force in the chest, knocking him backward to the ground. "Son of a _bitch_!" He was on top of him in a flash, delivering a punch to Nick's face that opened the cuts from his previous assault. Becker grabbed the front of Nick's shirt with both hands and pulled him to his feet. "What the _fuck_ was that? Huh?" He got behind Nick and pushed him hard toward the trailer. "Get over there!" Becker cried as he shoved again.

Nick could feel the flow of fresh blood on his face, and the pain in his head was coming alive again. Becker and Juarez were behind him as he headed for the trailer that was now just a short distance away. He saw the occupant sitting on the front steps smoking a cigarette, watching them. As they neared, he stood up, and Nick thought that the man looked apprehensive.

Walsh cocked his head as Becker and Juarez approached. He took a good look at the third man who was with them. If he hadn't been sure before by watching the chase, he was sure now by the handcuffs and the sight of the man's face…he was not a willing participant in whatever was going on. He eyed Becker suspiciously and asked, "Who's that?"

"Just a little insurance…along for the ride."

Walsh shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know, man. You never said nothin' about anything like this."

"Awww…he won't be no trouble," Becker said with a grin. Then he leaned over close to Walsh and uttered, "I'm gonna need a few things from you though…for the night."

Walsh looked as if he was having second thoughts about agreeing to shelter the escaped convicts overnight. "I'm not too sure about this, man."

"I'm a cop!" Nick suddenly blurted out, hoping to take advantage of Walsh's moment of indecision.

"Shut up!" Becker slapped him on the back of the head. "You ain't no cop!"

But Nick saw that Walsh was listening to him and spoke quickly. "I'm a CSI…they took me with them when they escaped. You need to call the cops. You don't want to be a part of this. They've already killed a…"

"I said shut up!" Becker said while smacking him on the head again. He looked at Walsh. "Cody…man…let us in for the night. We'll be outta here first thing tomorrow."

"But the cops…"

"The cops ain't gonna come near here! They have no idea where we went. They're out there on the highway lookin' for us. When's the last time _anybody_ came back here, let alone a cop?" Becker nodded toward the door. "C'mon…let's go." He pushed past Walsh, pulling Nick by the arm behind him and up the steps. Once inside, he turned around to find Walsh and Juarez still standing at the bottom of the steps, staring up at him. His eyes narrowed. "Manny," he hissed. "Get your ass in here."

Juarez looked at Walsh and then turned to look back at the car and all around the area. He looked back at Becker and hunched his shoulders, putting his hands in his jeans pockets, and slunk up the stairs.

Once Juarez was inside, Walsh saw that Becker was still staring at him. He sighed, dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it out, and then climbed the stairs.

The inside of the trailer was dank and dark, despite the two table lamps that were lit. A bar separated the small living room from the even smaller kitchen, and the whole place smelled of stale, greasy cooking.

Becker pushed Nick down onto one end of a faded, brown, striped sofa. He turned to Juarez and ordered, "Watch him," while pointing a finger in Nick's direction.

Juarez simply nodded and plopped himself down into an easy chair across from the sofa. He picked up a TV remote and looked at the 15 inch portable TV that was sitting on the floor by the wall. "This thing work?"

"Yeah…not a lot of stations though," Walsh answered, leaning against the bar.

Juarez didn't respond. He hit the remote and began channel surfing through the stations until he settled on a fuzzy, black and white program that at least had clear sound.

"Hey, Cody…show me around the place, man." Becker gave Walsh a wave toward himself as if to say, "Come on," and the two of them disappeared down the narrow hallway off of the living room.

From their direction, Nick could hear doors opening and closing and the sounds of things being pushed around and looked through, as well as the low voices of the men talking. He looked at Juarez who was slumped in his chair staring at the television.

Without moving his head, Juarez's eyes shifted in Nick's direction to find the CSI watching him. "_Don't_ talk to me," he said in a quiet voice.

Nick turned to look down the hallway where the sounds continued, then looked back at Juarez. "We can _both_ go," he whispered. "I swear…I'll tell them how you helped me."

Juarez was silent, his eyes moving between Nick and the TV and then suddenly up as Becker and Walsh returned.

Walsh headed for the kitchen and began rummaging through drawers while Becker tossed something at Juarez. "There ya go, man. Gimme that other one."

Juarez caught the tossed t-shirt and examined it in his hands for a moment. It was white…or it had been once…and had a large red Marlboro logo on the back. He shrugged and leaned forward in his chair, then pulled his orange prison shirt over his head and threw it to Becker before putting on the new one.

Becker had already changed into his new shirt…a light blue one with the number 3 emblazoned on the front topped with a golden halo. He caught Juarez's shirt and balled it up with his own discarded one. He laughed. "Hey…you like mine? Pretty hard to wrestle it away from a fan of The Intimidator, ain't that right, Cody?"

Walsh returned from the kitchen, not laughing, something in his left hand. Becker handed him the two orange shirts and in return Walsh handed Becker a roll of duct tape and a utility knife.

Nick watched the exchange and his eyes focused on the items that Becker now held. His mouth felt dry, and fear raced through his mind and body, settling in his stomach and making him feel like he might get sick. His eyes raised from Becker's hand to his face. He was looking at Nick.

"Let's go."

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to lie down for a little bit, Gil?" Kinsey asked for the third time within the hour as he watched Grissom rub his eyes yet again.

Grissom shook his head and yawned. "I'll sleep a little later…after Brass and Warrick are up."

"Okay…well…I'm heading on home for a bit. The wife's got dinner _and_ breakfast waiting by now, I think." Kinsey smiled. "I'll be back in a few hours, but give me a call if you need anything."

"Thanks, Lars." Grissom stretched his arms over his head and then stood up to walk around a little. The dispatch room had been quiet for some time now. The patrols were not even calling in now and wouldn't unless there was something to report, and so it was silent in the room. When Grissom's cell phone rang, both he and the dispatcher jumped.

"Gil, it's Catherine."

"Cath…what have you got?" Grissom asked as he paced back and forth.

She sighed. "Not much. Greg got the DNA results back."

"The blood on the window was Nick's?"

Silence. Then Catherine cleared her throat. "Yeah…yeah, it was. I uh…we didn't…"

Grissom waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he said, "We'll find him, Catherine. It's just…"

"I know…I know," she interrupted, trying to sound strong again. "Archie's getting a list of all the guys Becker ran around with in prison, people who visited him, people he called…we should have it to you in a few hours."

"Good. Warrick and Brass are going over to High Desert first thing."

"Yeah…well…call us if…anything…you know."

"I will," promised Grissom. "Get some sleep."

* * *

Becker grabbed Nick's arm and pulled him up off of the sofa. As he was pushed toward the hallway, Nick took a look over his shoulder at Juarez and caught the man watching him, but the convict quickly averted his eyes. Nick felt a shove to his back as Becker forced him to keep moving.

They stopped just after passing the bathroom and before reaching the bedroom. A sliding door was open there, revealing a utility closet that housed the water heater. In the small space next to it were exposed pipes for the bathroom plumbing.

"In there," Becker directed. "On the floor."

Nick knew what the man was going to do. "Ron…please…c'mon…just lock me in the bathroom or something, okay?"

"I don't feel like having you watch me take a leak in the middle of the night," Becker growled. "Get in there." He gave Nick a shove.

Nick stood inside the closet between the water heater and the wall, looking at Becker. "Can't you just leave me out there somewhere?"

"If you don't shut the fuck up and get down, I'm gonna lock you in the fuckin' car trunk! How would you like that? Now get down. Do it!" Becker held the knife out for emphasis.

Shaking now, Nick did as he was told and got to his knees on the floor.

"Sit!"

Nick sat with his legs pulled up so that his knees were nearly under his chin. That was the only way he could fit into the space.

Becker pulled a long piece of the duct tape off of the roll and then used the knife to cut it. He squatted down and leaned into the closet, wrapping the tape around one of the pipes as well as one of Nick's arms, still cuffed behind his back. He did the same with more tape and the other arm, and then put a second round of tape around each. Satisfied that his captive was secure, he stood up and looked down, smiling and admiring his work. "Sleep well. See you in the morning."

Nick had never really been bothered by small spaces, but facing the night confined like this and unable to move frightened him greatly. He offered up one last hurried plea as Becker started to slide the door shut. "Ron…listen…please…let me _go_ now. It'll be easier for you to get away without me and they might even stop looking for you if they find me. Please…you don't _need_ me anymore!"

Becker stopped after sliding the door shut halfway. He looked down at Nick as he spoke, and his expression changed. It seemed as though a sense of awareness had come over him…as though something had just dawned on him.

The look on Becker's face sent a cold chill through Nick's body, but the man's next words went straight through his heart.

"You know…you're right. We _don't_ need you anymore."

* * *

**This one is quite a bit longer than the previous chapter. That deserves a little feedback, don't you think? :-) I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again to everyone who reads, reviews, etc.! I really appreciate it!**


	5. Chapter 5

_The look on Becker's face sent a cold chill through Nick's body, but the man's next words went straight through his heart._

"_You know…you're right. We _don't_ need you anymore."_

Ron Becker had bid him goodnight once more before he closed the closet door, but so far Nick was having anything but a good night. Cramped into the small space, there was no room to move except to stick his right leg out straight, fitting it between the water heater and the closet door. That helped alleviate some of the cramping in his right leg muscles, but it put too much extra strain on the left. He then found that it was extremely difficult to get his right leg brought back up into its previous position since the duct tape prevented him from lifting his upper body at all. It was a fight he fought, however, finally getting back into his original position despite the clamor it caused, drawing someone…Becker, he presumed…to bang on the door and tell him to "stop making so much fucking noise".

Nick's position, as well as the aches and pains in his body, made sleep impossible even if his worried mind would have allowed it, which it didn't. He sat for hours in the small, dark, hot space wondering what they had planned for him…what Becker had meant when he had agreed that they no longer needed him. He wondered what he might have to do to keep that from happening and wondered even if he _could_ keep it from happening. He wondered what his team was doing to track them down, and how much longer it would be before they found him. And he wondered how much longer he could keep thinking "when" they found him instead of "if" they found him.

Not long after Becker had left him, he had smelled the scent of cigarettes and heard the sounds of laughter coming from the direction of the living room. It sounded like most of it was coming from Becker. Neither Walsh nor Juarez had seemed in much of a jovial mood earlier, and he doubted that their dispositions had improved much since then.

Eventually it grew quiet, and Nick figured that they were sleeping. He tried several times to pull away from the pipes he was secured to, but the tape held fast. He wasn't even sure what he would do if he _was_ able to get free, but at least he was doing something. The struggling made it even hotter in the tight space, and sweat rolled down his face, stinging as it ran over some of the cuts and abrasions there. He rested his forehead against his knees and tried to relax…to not think about what the morning might bring.

* * *

The sound of sudden, loud pounding on the closet door caused Nick to jerk his head up, quickly drawing a moan from him as his neck muscles painfully protested the movement.

"Rise and shine!" Becker's voice was followed by laughter that faded as he walked away after banging on the door as he passed.

Nick cringed at the pain in his neck and tried instinctively to bring a hand up to rub it. He quickly realized that he couldn't do that and remembered why, so he tilted his head back and leaned it against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. Had he actually slept? He wasn't sure. He definitely did not feel rested. His back ached and his legs felt numb. The small space wasn't quite as dark as before. A small bit of light crept under the door, and he could now hear movement back and forth in the hallway and in the bathroom behind him. Despite what might happen once they took him out of here, he was getting desperate to escape the confinement. His arms were hurting as well, and he could feel that the handcuffs had made scrapes on his wrists if not actual cuts. Why weren't they coming for him yet? How much longer was he going to have to stay in this place? _God…what if they wait until nighttime to leave?_ He couldn't make it that long. He knew he couldn't. Feeling panic start to rise inside of him, he took a couple of deep breaths. In doing so, he inhaled the scent of bacon cooking. _Great…that helps._ His stomach responded with a rumble. He didn't much care for the greasy stuff, but right now he would gladly eat it to satisfy the gnawing hunger that he hadn't even realized was there until now. Even better than food, however, would be something to quench the thirst that was building. He leaned back against the wall as best he could and waited.

* * *

Gil Grissom looked up as Warrick and Brass entered the conference room at the Indian Springs Police Department. From the looks on their faces, he could guess what they had to say, but he asked anyway. "Any luck?"

The two men shook their heads and sat down at the table across from Grissom. Warrick propped his elbows up on the table and leaned over, putting his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes.

Brass leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking just as tired and discouraged as the CSI. "Nothing. Three hours of listening to smack talk and guys trying to make deals for information they didn't have."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully as he sat with the end of a pencil in his mouth, his cell phone on the table in front of him.

Brass continued, "To hear them tell it, Becker never gave any indication that he was thinking of trying to escape…didn't ask anybody for help or if anybody wanted to go with him."

"What about Juarez?"

The captain shook his head. "He didn't talk to anyone about anything either."

Warrick looked up with tired eyes. "We don't even know if Becker planned to take Juarez with him all along or picked him on the spur of the moment when it all went down."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Well, for all we know, it was all spur of the moment for Becker too. Did he just see the opportunity and take it? Or did he orchestrate it all and start by killing the guard, Paul Keller?"

"Do we know for sure he _did_ kill Keller?" asked Warrick.

Just then Grissom's cell phone rang. "We're about to find out." He answered it, "Grissom. Okay…hang on, Catherine…I'm putting you on speaker…Brass and Warrick are here." He set the phone in the middle of the table and turned the speaker on. "Go ahead."

Catherine's voice rang out into the room. "Greg ran all of the swabs that Nick and Warrick collected before…well…before. He compared them to the swab from Keller's ear…got one match."

"Becker?" asked Brass.

"Yeah." She sighed. "You know, Sara and I got that swab off of the floor in the rec room. It was pretty contaminated. We got a match, but it won't hold up in court."

"Doesn't matter," Warrick spoke up. "When we catch the bastard we'll get a clean sample and nail him on it along with everything else."

"But…" added Brass, "it still doesn't tell us if Becker killed Keller with the intent to cause chaos and try to escape or if he just got lucky."

"Catherine, did Archie come up with anything on Becker's previous cellmates or accomplices?" Grissom leaned forward toward the phone as he spoke.

"Sara's over there with him now. He's not finished yet with all of the databases he needs to search."

"See if you can…"

"Yeah, I know, Gil," she interrupted. "We're going to go ahead with what we have so far…take a look at the map and see if any of them live or work or hang out anyplace in the search area." She paused. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Grissom pursed his lips and looked at the two men across the table from him. "We got nothing from the prison this morning. Right now we're waiting for any reports from the Highway Patrol…just waiting for something to go on."

Catherine bit back the sharp remark that wanted to leap out of her mouth. "Okay. We'll let you know what we find as soon as we have something."

* * *

Nick had been hearing noises throughout the trailer all morning, including that of doors slamming shut. Each time, he hoped that maybe Becker and Juarez were leaving for good without him, but the sounds continued. Eventually he heard footsteps coming closer down the hallway and the closet door slid open with a bang. He looked up and saw Becker standing over him.

"Have a good night?" Becker laughed and held up a knife. "C'mon…time to go." He reached into the closet behind Nick and pushed him forward, then began cutting the strips of duct tape. When he had sawed through all of them, he pulled the tape away from Nick's arms, earning a hiss from the man as it tugged at his skin. Becker then grabbed Nick by the arm and stood, pulling him up with him.

With that one movement, Nick suddenly felt like he was on fire. Every muscle in his body excruciatingly came to life and he let out a cry of pain. As quickly as he was pulled up, he collapsed again as his weakened legs gave out on him.

Becker held fast to his arm and jerked him up again. "Get up!"

It felt like a thousand pins and needles were stinging Nick's arms and legs as he struggled to get to his feet. His lower limbs still refused to support him, and he fell to his knees as Becker continued to grip him by the arm. He felt nauseous, blackness clouding his vision, and he thought he might pass out. Becker gave another yank to his arm, this time pulling him out of the closet and onto the floor of the narrow hallway. Nick rolled over onto his back as best he could with his arms still restrained behind him. He lay there panting, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to move as the cramping in his muscles started to subside.

Becker stepped over Nick's body and looked down at him, shaking his head. "Lousy, good for nothin'…" He reached down and grabbed Nick's arm again, but instead of picking him up he dragged him along on the floor behind him. When they reached the living room, he yanked him up and pushed him onto the couch. "Sit tight, man…we'll be outta here soon." Becker turned and left the trailer, the screen door slamming behind him.

Nick sighed with some relief as he fell onto the soft sofa cushions. He couldn't do anything about his arms, but he stretched his legs out in front of him, relishing in the sensation even though small spasms continued to occur every few minutes. He looked around the room and didn't see Walsh anywhere, but Juarez was slumped in the same chair as the night before, staring at the television. Nick wondered if the man had spent the entire night there. "Manny…"

"Shut up." The escaped convict did not even glance over at him.

* * *

Becker got out of the Ford Escort, now a half a mile back in the dense woods behind Cody Walsh's trailer.

"You'll need the plate," Walsh said.

"Are you crazy? I can't use a stolen car plate. What if some overeager state trooper runs it?"

Walsh shrugged. "Better than no plate. That truck ain't had one on her in years." He handed Becker a screwdriver.

Becker bent down and began removing the license plate from the car. "How about the one from your car?"

"Same difference. If they run it, it won't match the ride. You're just gonna have to make sure you don't give 'em a reason to run it."

"Yeah…well…" Becker stood up, license plate in hand, and the two men began heading back toward the trailer. "Shouldn't be anybody on those roads anyway. Anybody going into Caliente from down here would go up 93. Nobody goes back through this way…takes too long, and too many damn curves and hills."

"Yeah," Walsh agreed without much enthusiasm. They had reached the trailer and stopped at an eighties era Ford pickup truck parked behind it. Weeds had grown up around the vehicle, and Walsh pushed them aside as he crouched down and brushed a thick layer of dirt and dust off of the back where the license plate would go.

"Hey, man…I really appreciate this." Becker handed the plate and screwdriver to Walsh and the man began to attach the license to the truck. "I don't know…you know…if I can get it back to you…but I'll send you some money to make up for it, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Walsh said without looking up as he tightened the screws. "Whatever. Don't worry about it." The truth was, he didn't care if Becker returned the truck or paid for it or not. He just wanted the man out of his life. He finished with the plate and stood up. "There. That ought to hold up pretty good. Can't guarantee the engine will though."

"It'll get us far enough." Becker got into the driver's seat of the truck and turned the key. After a couple of tries, the vehicle roared to life, belching black smoke out of the tailpipe. "Little loud, isn't it?" he called out over the noise to Walsh.

Walsh nodded and waited for Becker to turn the engine off before speaking. "Yep. Muffler rusted through sitting out here. Still got gas in her though. Ought to get you as far as Hiko. You can fill up again there."

Becker got out of the truck and inspected the extended cab behind the front seats. "Yeah…yeah…good." He finished looking around and closed the door.

Walsh knew why he was looking there. "You takin' him with you then?"

"Well, hell yeah!" Becker looked at him in surprise. "I ain't gonna leave him here for you to deal with." He clapped Walsh on the shoulder. "You been real good to me, Cody. I don't want to get you in any trouble, so uh…any way that truck can be traced back to you?"

"Nah." Walsh shook his head.

"What about the VIN?"

"It ain't comin' back to me. Got it from a buddy in Reno about six years ago. Still registered to him." Walsh started to walk back to the trailer, leaving Becker behind.

Becker trotted to catch up with him. "Yeah? So…they ask him what he did with it and…"

"They ain't gonna ask him anything. He got killed in a motorcycle accident a few months after he gave me the truck." Walsh stopped at a metal barrel just behind the corner of the trailer and looked inside. He picked up the long, thin stick that was leaning against the barrel and used it to stir the contents, producing a thin wisp of black smoke.

"How they doin'?" asked Becker.

Walsh pulled the stick out of the barrel to reveal a blackened scrap of what was once orange t-shirt material on the end. He held it up for Becker to see. "All gone."

* * *

"Where are we going?"

This time Juarez did look Nick's way. "I swear to God, if you don't keep your fuckin' mouth shut…"

Nick kept quiet for a moment until Juarez turned back to the TV. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Juarez asked, annoyed.

"Where we're going. He didn't tell you, did he?"

"I don't care, man. Leave me the fuck alone." Juarez sunk further into his chair and stared at the TV again.

Nick could hear the roar of an engine outside and Becker and Walsh talking. He knew they would be back inside soon. "You don't care? You're just gonna keep following him around and doing what he says until...when? When's it over for you, Manny?"

Juarez did not acknowledge him.

"You gotta do what's best for you, man. End this. I told you…he's taking you down with him and you're gonna…"

"SHUT…" Juarez stood up. "…the fuck up!"

Nick couldn't help but raise his voice as he finished the sentence. "You're gonna end up _dead_, Manny!"

Juarez shouted back as he approached the couch, "_You're_ gonna end up dead if you keep this up!"

"How much longer did you have in there, Manny? They'll give you _life_ now, for this…maybe even…"

Juarez was suddenly on top of Nick on the sofa and cut off the CSI's words with a hard blow to his mouth. "I told you to _shut up_!" He delivered another punch that sent blood flying onto the sofa pillows.

"Hey! What the fuck is going on?" Becker's voice bellowed as he came in the screen door.

"The son of a bitch wouldn't keep quiet!" Juarez was still on top of Nick and had him by the front of the shirt.

"Get off him!" Becker commanded, grabbing Juarez by the back of his shirt. "Come on! That's enough! Get off him!" He pulled the furious Latino up and then pushed him across the room. "Jesus Christ! You can't do one little thing for me like watch him?" He shoved Juarez hard again.

"He keeps yammerin' at me!" Juarez yelled, almost whining. "Son of a bitch keeps…"

"I don't care what he does! Go on…get out of here! Get in the truck. _I'll_ shut him up and be out in a minute."

Juarez stood breathing heavily, looking from Becker to Nick and back to Becker before storming out the front door and past Walsh who was at the bottom of the stairs taking everything in. He climbed into the driver's side of the truck and slammed the door shut.

Inside the trailer, Nick was still reeling from the blows, feeling the blood inside his mouth and running down his chin. He watched as Becker threw Juarez out of the trailer and he shrank back farther into the couch when Becker took a few steps toward him. But the man did not say anything to him; he turned and went down the hall toward the bedroom. The screen door slammed, and Nick looked up to find Walsh standing there.

"Cody! C'mere!" Becker called, and Walsh went to the bedroom. A few moments later they returned. Becker had a t-shirt in his hands, and he began to rip it up. "Thanks again, man," he said to Walsh who simply nodded quietly and then sat down in the chair that Juarez had vacated.

Nick looked up as Becker approached with a long strip of the torn t-shirt in his hands. He shook his head, desperately trying to keep from breaking down as he pleaded, "Ron…please…"

"That's enough." Becker kneeled on the couch and leaned in close as he wrapped the piece of material around Nick's head twice, pulling it tightly between his teeth and tying it off at the back. "There ya go!" He stood up again, admiring his work.

It was all too much for Nick now. Fear and despair took over as he realized this was far from over. They were moving on. And they were taking him with them. He turned his teary eyes to Walsh, but the man quickly looked away and then down at his lap.

"Aw c'mon…it ain't that bad," Becker said. "Let's go." He tapped Nick on the shoulder. "Come on…up." Nick tried to get up on his own but didn't move fast enough for him, so Becker took his arm and pulled him up. He kept hold of the CSI and moved him toward the door. "See ya, man," he acknowledged Walsh on his way out, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

Nick numbly walked in front of Becker, barely taking notice of the different vehicle they were nearing. He duly did as he was told and got into the small space behind the seats, lying on the floor. He closed his eyes as he heard Becker get into the front passenger seat and close the door. The truck started up with a roar and then began slowly moving down the bumpy lane. Nick kept his eyes closed and tried to imagine he was anywhere else…somewhere safe. Aside from the noise of the truck, there was quiet. Becker and Juarez did not speak except for a few directions given by Becker now and then. Nick was beginning to feel sick again, even with his eyes closed, and began to drift in and out of restless sleep. After what felt to him like an hour…or two…he wasn't sure, Nick heard Becker break the silence.

"Pull over up here."

* * *

**Whew! I stayed up until 3 in the morning to get this one finished for you! So, please forgive any typos. ;-) I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to everyone who is reading/reviewing/etc. I really appreciate it and love hearing from you!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Nick numbly walked in front of Becker, barely taking notice of the different vehicle they were nearing. He duly did as he was told and got into the small space behind the seats, lying on the floor. He closed his eyes as he heard Becker get into the front passenger seat and close the door. The truck started up with a roar and then began slowly moving down the bumpy lane. Nick kept his eyes closed and tried to imagine he was anywhere else…somewhere safe. Aside from the noise of the truck, there was quiet. Becker and Juarez did not speak except for a few directions given by Becker now and then. Nick was beginning to feel sick again, even with his eyes closed, and began to drift in and out of restless sleep. After what felt to him like an hour…or two…he wasn't sure, Nick heard Becker break the silence._

"_Pull over up here."_

Manny Juarez knew better than to ask questions, so he silently pulled the truck over to the side of the road.

Nick stirred in the back of the cab, wondering what was going on but not really feeling like trying to see. He heard one of the front doors open and from the feel of it realized it must be Ron Becker who was getting out of the vehicle. Nick closed his eyes again. _Must need to take a leak._ But he didn't hear the door close again. What he heard was Becker's voice above him.

"Get out."

_Shit_. Nick did his best to crawl backward out from behind the truck seats, but it was difficult. Once he got his legs out, Becker grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him the rest of the way out, dropping him unceremoniously on his knees. Nick knelt there, hands still cuffed behind him and his head down, breathing heavily in the desert heat. He stared at Becker's feet as the man stood in front of him not saying anything. _This is it. He's going to kill me now._ He waited for it…a hit to the back of his head…a gunshot to his chest…a knife to his throat…but Becker did nothing except stand in place.

Nick swallowed hard and looked up, but not at Becker. He looked left and then right. Empty highway stretched in both directions, the heat shimmering over it. Just behind Becker he could see a metal guardrail at the edge of the pavement. And beyond that, there was nothing but air.

"C'mon," Becker urged as he took hold of Nick's arm and pulled him to his feet.

Nick shakily got up but still did not look at the man standing in front of him. He looked past him and saw that the length of highway they stood on spanned a ravine. The steep, sloping sides were spotted with tall, dusty sagebrush. Approximately 45 feet below the highway the ravine ended at a dry creek bed lined with small trees and high grasses, vegetation hardy enough to sustain the heat for days waiting for the nourishment the creek would bring after a hard desert rain. Nick finally looked at Becker's face. It was void of emotion.

"Let's go." He pulled Nick by the arm toward himself and then got behind the CSI and pushed him forward.

Realization set in and Nick began to resist being moved, planting his feet hard on the pavement and pushing backward against Becker, but the man had size and strength on him and was able to keep the forward momentum going until Nick's legs were against the guardrail.

Becker put an arm around Nick's neck, squeezing tightly, and leaned in and whispered, "Enjoy the view," as he began to push Nick forward again.

Panicked, Nick struggled to break free of the man and tried to beg him not to do this, but his pleas were muffled by the gag in his mouth. Becker pulled back on his neck and used his lower body to push his legs forward, and Nick felt himself being shoved over the guardrail. Nausea washed over him as he looked over the edge and down at the ravine. He shook his head furiously and tried to back up, but Becker held fast to him. Then suddenly his neck was released and he felt a hand pushing against his back. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Becker with one more pleading glance, but the man said nothing…his face betrayed nothing…and Nick felt one final shove to his back.

* * *

"I'm going out there myself, Grissom." Warrick Brown paced back and forth in the conference room of the Indian Springs Police Department. "I can't just keep sitting here doing nothing!"

Gil Grissom looked up from his seat at the table. "Where are you going to go, Warrick?"

"I don't know! Anywhere but here! This is the one place I know they're _not_!"

"Look…Warrick…"

Warrick stopped his pacing and leaned across the table facing his supervisor, palms planted on the surface. "Look nothin'! They're getting farther away every minute that we sit here doing nothing but listen to that damn radio!" He punctuated his sentence by violently pushing the chair in front of him down and halfway across the room.

"Am I interrupting?" Jim Brass stood just inside the door to the room.

Warrick resumed his pacing, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair.

"Okay…so..." The detective came into the room and sat down. "Here's what we know. Sara and Catherine have the list of Becker's previous 'associates' and their last known addresses. Trouble is, there's quite a few still in the area…most of 'em keeping their noses clean…a couple of them are in and out of trouble…nothing major."

Warrick stopped pacing again and looked at the captain. "So what are we waiting for? Let's check 'em out."

"All of them?" Brass raised his eyebrows and then shook his head. "Listen…we need to figure this thing out before we go off on a wild goose chase."

"Jim," Grissom asked, "is there any way yet to narrow it down?"

"Yeah…sort of." Brass sighed. "We've got all the main roads and intersections blocked or under watch…have had since this whole thing started…and there's been no sign of them. So we're figuring they're still within that perimeter. We're moving things in…narrowing the surveillance area."

"And what if they went on one of the hundreds of back roads out there?" Warrick asked skeptically.

Brass shook his head. "Even if they did…that would take longer. They're still likely to be in the smaller search area. Besides…we figure they must have bedded down for the night somewhere. That would slow them down some too."

"Okay…okay…so now what?" Warrick shifted his eyes between the two men and then settled them on Grissom who answered him without saying anything. "Yeah…yeah…I know. We wait."

* * *

Nick was doing his best to keep from throwing up. After surviving the fall and the subsequent tumble down the hillside, the last thing he wanted was to die choking on his own vomit. He tried again to dislodge the gag from his mouth, but it was pulled tightly between his teeth and did not give at all. He didn't know how many feet he had fallen before hitting the hillside, but it was enough to break his left ankle upon impact and then his leg just above that, he presumed, from the sickening pain it was causing him now. The momentum from the fall and his lack of any way to stop himself led him to where he now lay…beneath the trees and among the grasses of the creek bed. He wasn't sure if he had passed out or not…didn't know if Becker and Juarez had left or not…but they must have. He could hear nothing but the wind in the trees and an occasional birdcall. _Ash-throated Flycatcher, _he thought as he laid his head down and closed his eyes.

* * *

A few miles up the road, the old Ford truck rumbled down the highway with Juarez at the wheel. Becker had his window down and was leaning an elbow on the frame, enjoying the breeze. He was also enjoying the freedom of finally ridding himself of a hostage. He stared out at the desert hills as they went by. "The fall killed him…right?"

Juarez glanced over at his partner and then focused on the road again. "Yeah…sure."

Becker looked at him. "How do _you_ know? You was sittin' in the truck like a fuckin' coward. You didn't even see what happened."

"I don't know, man! Who cares? His hands are behind him…ain't no way he can get out of there. And he can't holler for help, right? Ain't nobody gonna see him down there either, even if they come by. And we only passed like two cars the whole way. Just leave it."

Becker considered Juarez's words a moment and then said, "Go back."

"What?" Juarez looked at him. "Are you crazy? Double back now? And for what?"

"We haven't gone that far. Turn around."

"If he ain't dead yet, he soon will be, man!"

Becker's voice got low and even. "Turn the fucking truck around, Manny."

* * *

Nick had to stop as another wave of nausea washed over him. He laid his head down, panting in the heat of the sun as he looked back longingly toward the shady trees that were now maybe fifteen feet below him. He had moved up slowly, inch by inch, by the only means possible…pushing with his right leg. He looked upward at the top of the hillside, but quickly decided he wouldn't do that again. It was too far away…too discouraging. Although the drop down to the creek bed from the highway was about 45 feet, the sloping hillside was much longer. He looked at the underside of the bridge span. In garish neon green spray paint someone had scrawled, "La muerte es una vida vivida. La vida es una muerte que viene." _Death is a life lived. Life is a coming death. _He took a few deep breaths and pushed off again with his good leg, trying to ignore the pain of dragging his left as he moved just a few inches and then rested.

As he prepared to move again, he suddenly lifted his head up…listening. In the distance, and coming rapidly closer, was the sound of an engine. It gave him both hope and despair as he realized now that the possibility was very real that someone _might_ come along who could help him but that he was still too far below the road for anyone to see him. As the vehicle neared, he wondered how much longer it would be before another came. Only…this one…this one was slowing down. And it wasn't until the roaring engine stopped…_oh God_…that he recognized the sound of the Ford truck. He froze as he heard two doors slam shut.

"Well, well, well!"

Nick swallowed hard and turned his body so that he was on his side, facing in the direction of the bridge, and looked up. Becker and Juarez were looking down at him.

"Look at that, Manny!" Becker laughed. "And you said he couldn't get out of there." He pulled his gun out and aimed it at Nick.

Although there was no place to hide…nowhere to go…Nick tried to scramble away, but succeeded only in losing his position and sliding a foot or so down the hillside. He cried out in pain as his injured leg knocked against a rock.

Becker watched him, amused, for a few moments, but then called out, "You know, as much fun as this is, I just ain't got the time for it." He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

There was no time between the crack of the shot and the searing pain Nick felt go through his body. Any strength he still had in his right leg abandoned him, and he began to slide down the hillside. Though he tried to gain purchase again, it was only a matter of seconds before he found himself lying on his back again, panting, near the creek bed.

Juarez had been leaning against the truck, arms folded, watching as Becker fired his weapon. Now all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there, but Becker stood in place and turned to look at him.

"Go check."

Juarez furrowed his brow in confusion. "Huh?"

"Go make sure he's dead. I can't see him from here."

"Jesus Christ, man!" Juarez went over to Becker and looked down the ravine. "He's dead! You shot him! And nobody's gonna find him down there!"

Becker shook his head. "We have to make sure, 'cause I ain't coming back here again."

"Then _you_ go check! I ain't gonna break my neck getting down there and back!"

"Manny…" Becker stood close to the man, looking down at him. "_Get_ your ass down there and check."

The two men stared hard at each other for a moment before Juarez finally looked away. "Fine…fuck it!" Seething, he ran to the end of the bridge and crossed over the guardrail where the ground just began to slope. He made his way down, slipping and sliding, kicking up dust and cursing the whole way. About halfway down he tripped over a rock and grabbed at some brush to keep from falling. "God _damn_ it!" He pulled his hand back and yanked a thorn out of his thumb. "If the son of a bitch _ain't_ dead, I'm gonna kill him myself!" he mumbled.

Several feet below, Nick was staring up through the trees as he lay on the ground. During this latest fall his broken leg and ankle had been jostled and banged about quite a bit, the pain nearly blinding him. But it was starting to settle into the dull ache that he was now familiar with. But now there was a new, unfamiliar pain. At first he hadn't been sure where he'd been hit after Becker's shot, the pain encompassing his whole body…but now he could feel the wetness spreading, soaking his shirt just above his belt on his right side. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could feel that wetness on his back as well. He let out a slow, shaky breath and tilted his head back. He could see bits of the blue sky between the green leaves above him. His breathing became slow and deliberate as the blue and green mixed together in the breeze and the pain seemed to disappear as he felt himself getting sleepy. But suddenly he was on full alert again, heart pounding, as he heard the dirt and rocks tumbling, the skidding of shoes, and the voice of Manny Juarez.

"Where the _fuck_ are you?"

And then there he was, standing over him, starting down at him. Juarez pulled the bottom of his Marlboro t-shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. As he did, Nick saw the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. But Juarez didn't pull it out. He put his shirt back down, covering the weapon, and leaned over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

This time Nick couldn't try to talk some sense into him. This time he couldn't appeal to whatever sliver of decency Juarez might have somewhere inside of him. This time he couldn't even beg for his life. So he simply lay there, silently praying, his dark, shiny eyes looking up at the man.

Juarez stood upright and looked around the area, then back at Nick. Still he did not speak. He ran a hand across his mouth and sighed, then looked back through the trees the way he had come. He looked down at Nick again and cocked his head, studying him. Then he lifted his shirt and pulled out his gun.

Nick saw the action as if in slow motion, in denial. He shook his head slowly back and forth and tried to shrink back further away against the ground, but there was nowhere to go. He blinked back the tears that came as he let go of the last bit of hope that he could survive this…that he could be rescued. _Maybe it's better this way. _ He had tried his best…done everything that he could…but in the end there's only so much a man can do. He closed his eyes and braced himself. The shot he was expecting rang out and echoed through the trees, followed by the rustling of birds, their wings flapping desperately to escape the disturbance.

Nick opened his eyes and looked up at the blue and green overhead. Juarez's arm was extended, the smoking gun still aimed at the trees across the creek bed. He looked down at Nick without emotion and locked eyes with him as he put the weapon back into his waistband. Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

**See how nice I am? There were sooooo many places in there where i could have stopped and left you with an evil cliffhanger, but did I? No! :-) You will repay me by leaving a little feedback, won't you? ;-) **

**Thanks again to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I always like to respond to the reviews, so here's a big THANK YOU to those who review anonymously since I can't reply privately. You know, if you register for the site you can sign up for story alerts and you'll know as soon as a new chapter is up. :-)  
**


	7. Chapter 7

_Nick opened his eyes and looked up at the blue and green overhead. Juarez's arm was extended, the smoking gun still aimed at the trees across the creek bed. He looked down at Nick without emotion and locked eyes with him as he put the weapon back into his waistband. Then he turned and walked away._

Manny Juarez arrived back at the truck winded and red-faced, huffing and puffing from the climb back up out of the ravine. He found Ron Becker leaning against the door looking at him expectantly.

"Well?"

Juarez laughed. "You're losin' your touch, Ronny. Barely winged him."

"Sounded like you took care of it for me," Becker responded in a tone that made it clear he was not amused with the jab at his shooting skills.

"Yep." Juarez wiped the sweat from his brow. "Can we go now?"

Becker gave him a stony faced stare for a moment and then broke into a grin. "I knew you had it in you, Manny!" He clapped the other man on the back. "You got two under your belt now after that chick in the parking lot."

Looking uncomfortable with the attention, Juarez went around the truck to the driver's side. "Yeah…well…thanks," he mumbled. "Let's go."

* * *

Gil Grissom shuffled into the conference room of the Indian Springs Police Department. "Has it started yet?"

Warrick Brown sat leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on another chair. Jim Brass sat at one end of the table. They both shook their heads.

"Just about to," said Warrick, nodding at the television on the wall. He picked up a remote and aimed it, turning off the mute button just as KLAS-TV news anchor, Paula Francis, appeared onscreen and began speaking.

"It's been almost 24 hours since two prisoners escaped High Desert State Prison, and police still have no leads as to their whereabouts. The last place they are known to have been was Indian Springs, just a few miles from the prison, where they carjacked a woman shortly after their escape. Paula Davenport was killed when the men stole her tan 1995 Ford Escort, Nevada license plate 421-AJB."

Prison mug shots of Becker and Juarez appeared next to Francis as she continued. "Ronald Becker is 36 years old, six feet four inches tall with blond hair. Juarez is 29 years old, five feet seven inches tall with black hair. Both men are serving time for several crimes ranging from theft to attempted murder, and they are considered armed and dangerous. "

Warrick suddenly sat up straight, putting his feet back down on the floor, as the convicts' photos were replaced by Nick's CSI ID photo.

"A Crime Scene Investigator was taken hostage by the two inmates at the time of their escape and he is presumed to still be traveling with them. CSI Nick Stokes had been at the prison with other law enforcement officials investigating the murder of prison guard, Paul Keller. Sources tell us that DNA evidence suggests that one of the escapees is the culprit in that crime."

Grissom looked at Brass. "Did we release that information?"

The captain shook his head and turned his attention back to the television.

"Earlier today, Clark County Sheriff Rory Atwater spoke at a press conference about efforts to locate the escaped convicts. He said that the men are believed to still be in the area around Indian Springs and that all roads in and out of the area are being patrolled in search of the escapees. When faced with questions about the safety of citizens in that area and even in Las Vegas, Atwater was unable to provide any assurance that the public's fears are unfounded."

The feed switched to video of the sheriff at a podium outside the Las Vegas Police Department. A crowd of reporters stood in front of him calling out questions and waving cameras as he spoke. "I'd like to say that people should go about their business as usual and not worry, but I can't. The fact is that these men are dangerous. They are killers, they are armed, and they are desperate. Until we can find evidence of where they might be, I advise all citizens to stay on the alert, keep your doors and windows locked, and report anything suspicious to the police immediately. We will update you as we get more information, but that's all we have at this time. Thank you." The screen showed Atwater leaving the podium amid the throng, ignoring their calls of more questions.

Warrick switched off the TV as it returned to Francis and she began talking about a hit and run accident on The Strip. He set the remote on the table and rubbed his forehead with the palms of his hands.

"You all right, Rick?" Brass asked.

Of course he wasn't all right. How could he be all right when the men Atwater had just described as desperate, dangerous killers had his best friend? And he was powerless to do anything about it. "Yeah…sure," he answered. "I'm uh…I'm gonna go give Sara a call…see if they got anything out of any of those interviews down around the city."

"Okay…yeah…keep us posted." Brass watched the tall CSI leave the room and then looked at Grissom. They both knew that nothing had come of the interviews with Becker's friends. At least not yet. And they knew that Warrick was aware of that as well. "Guess he just wants to feel like he's doing something."

Grissom sighed. "Don't we all."

* * *

"Are you sure it's got gas?"

"Yes!" Becker hit the side of the truck with his hand. "Cody said we had enough to make it to Hiko!"

"Well," Juarez said as he slammed the truck's hood shut. "We're screwed then 'cause I don't know what's wrong with it."

"All right…all right. We just gotta…" Becker shaded his eyes and looked down the empty highway in both directions. "We just gotta wait for someone to come along, that's all." He sat down on the side of the road under a small clump of trees."

"Are you kidding? We ain't seen one car in over an hour!"

"So…we wait."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Ron!" Juarez kicked one of the truck's front tires. "I'm sick of this! This whole thing's been bullshit from the beginning! I'm worse off than I was before we got out! You got me _killin'_ people for Christ's sake! I'm in some lousy, hot, broken down piece of shit tryin' to get who knows where…and for what?"

Becker's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. "I guess I could just leave you here then, huh, Manny?" he said evenly. "I mean…you know…seein' as how I'm ruinin' your life and all."

Unconsciously, Juarez took a step backward. He sighed as he ran both hands through his hair. "All right…look…I just…I'm sorry. I just…what the fuck are we gonna do? Nobody's gonna be out here on this road!"

But Becker was looking past him. He grinned. "Wanna bet?"

Juarez turned to look down the highway. At first he was sure it was just the heat rising off of the pavement that he saw wavering in the distance. But soon it became clear. There was a car coming down the road toward them.

"Make sure they stop."

Juarez shot him a look and then opened the hood of the truck again, propping it up so it stayed open as he stood next to it, waving his arms.

As the vehicle neared, it slowed down. They could see that it was a 4-door Toyota Tercel…white. At least it looked like it might be white if all of the dust were washed off of it.

As the car pulled over to the side of the road behind the truck, Becker stood up and joined Juarez in approaching the vehicle. He leaned over and peered inside, noting that the driver was the only occupant. The back seat held a tattered suitcase and an overstuffed backpack along with a couple of tripods that stretched the width of the car, barely fitting into the small space. Beneath them, among a plethora of junk food wrappers and empty Pepsi cans were at least three large cameras and several smaller electronic devices. Becker stood up straight again and watched as the driver got out of the car.

He was a man in his mid-thirties, short, and balding. A few wisps of long, sandy colored hair clung onto the front of his scalp, blowing in the wind as he looked at the two men in front of him. "Trouble with your truck, fellas?"

Becker nodded. "Yeah…yeah…got plenty of gas, but she just up and quit on us."

The man stepped back, one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head as he squinted in the sunlight looking at the broken down vehicle. "Huh. That sucks. Where are you guys heading?"

Juarez looked over at Becker who smiled pleasantly. "Caliente."

The man let out a low whistle. "Gosh…you sure picked the long way around, didn't you?" He stuck out his hand. "Name's Louie."

Becker shook hands with the man. "Ron. This here's my friend, Manny."

Juarez's eyes darted quickly to Becker at the mention of their names. But Becker was still smiling, so he shook the newcomer's hand but did not offer a greeting.

"That's quite a carload you got there, Louie," said Becker as he folded his arms.

"Oh, yeah…I'm kind of on a mission, you might say," the man responded with a laugh. "Say, you fellas come this way to sightsee?"

The two convicts looked at each other, and Juarez spoke for the first time. "Sightsee? What the hell is there to see out here?"

Louie looked confused and asked, "Where are you guys from anyway? You have to know where you are. If you don't, you'll soon find out if you head off on the wrong road."

"What are you talking about there, Louie? What kinda 'mission' you on?" Becker was genuinely intrigued now.

The man looked behind him and all around before stepping closer to them and leaning in as he spoke. "Area 51, fellas."

He was met with blank stares.

"Guys…come on! Area 51! Aliens? Back in 1967, the government…"

"I _know_ what it _is_, Louie," Becker said exasperatedly while Juarez continued to look lost. "But what's it got to do with _us_?"

"Because," Louie said urgently, "you're just a few miles away from the fences. And if you get too close to them…" He whistled low again. "They're watching you. You can see them too…with their guns…ready to shoot to kill if you cross into the area."

"The aliens?" Juarez asked tentatively.

Becker gave him a shove. "No, idiot! The government!" He turned back to Louie. "I didn't know we were that close. Thanks for the heads up, man."

"Sure…sure…that's why I've got all that stuff. I don't even need to get close to see what I need to see."

"Uh huh." Becker nodded but did not press the man on exactly what it was he needed to see. He had needs of his own. "So, I don't guess you got anything in there that'll get this truck runnin', huh?"

Louie shook his head. "I guess not. But I can probably get some of that stuff into the trunk and make room for you…give you a lift. I'm not going as far as Caliente, but I can get you almost to Hiko." He laughed. "I've got a reservation just outside there at the Little A'Le'Inn."

"The what?" asked Becker.

"Oh, it's a great place! I've been up here three times already this year. The Little A'Le'Inn…just off the ET Highway. The rooms aren't much to speak of, but the food's good and you can't beat the hospitality. They've got a bar there too."

Becker grinned. "Sounds…interesting."

"The best!" Louie smiled back. "So? Ready to hit the road then?"

"Yes, we are, Louie. Yes, we are."

* * *

Fifteen.

That's how many different bird calls Nick had counted so far as he lay near the dry creek bed, trying to occupy his mind so that he wouldn't panic. He breathed consciously, taking notice of each slow inhalation and feeling it fill his lungs, then releasing it. He still couldn't believe that Juarez hadn't finished him off. And there were times, as he slipped in and out of a painful awareness, that he thought maybe he _had_ shot him. Maybe he _was_ dead. After Juarez left and he heard the truck drive away, he still lay unmoving, afraid that they weren't really gone…that they would come back again and again until he was good and dead. His hands still cuffed behind him, he could feel the blood oozing from his back onto his arm. He knew the bullet had gone all the way through him. He hadn't raised his head to look at the entrance wound, but the wetness had stopped spreading and was beginning to feel sticky. Quite frankly, at this moment it was his leg and ankle that were hurting him the most.

The sound of another car approaching reached Nick's ears. Number four. The far away hum of the engine became louder and louder as the car neared. His emotions fought again, just as they had when the other three cars had come…fear and hope battling it out inside of him. Were they coming back to make sure he was dead? Or was it someone else? Someone looking for him? He doubted it. Not yet. They wouldn't be this close to figuring out what happened to him or where he was. Just a random car then. The road obviously was one not traveled much, as evidenced by just four cars passing in…how long had it been? He couldn't be entirely sure, but it felt like hours. This car was bound to pass as the others had. They couldn't see him down where he was even if they _did_ stop to look…not even in the daylight, much less in this early dusk.

He lifted his head and listened as the car passed and the sound of the engine faded. He fought off the despair that was creeping into his heart. It was too soon for that. He needed to stay focused. There was no sense in wasting his energy trying to crawl up again…not in the darkness. He would wait until morning. His body shivered, and he tried not to think about how much colder it was bound to get as the night wore on. He hoped that at least the chilly air would help numb the pain in his ankle and leg. Right now it had subsided into a dull ache because he hadn't moved in so long. But he knew it would awaken with a vengeance the next time he tried to crawl. For that he needed rest, and resigning himself to his situation for now, Nick laid his head back down against the weeds and dirt and closed his eyes as somewhere in the trees a mourning dove called.

* * *

Grissom and Warrick were in the break room, Grissom sitting with a cup of coffee and Warrick pacing with a can of Coke, when Brass suddenly stuck his head into the room. "Hey…guys…come on!" He gestured with his hand for them to follow him and left as quickly as he came.

The two men exchanged puzzled looks and then left the room in search of the captain. They found him in the conference room, looking excited. Both of them refused his request to have a seat, preferring to stand for whatever it was he had to say.

"Okay," Brass began, "so Catherine and Sara got sent out this afternoon to a scene north of here, near the military zone." He couldn't help but laugh a little and shake his head. "Boy…Catherine was _not_ happy about it, lemme tell you. But with you guys gone, they're tapped out down there."

"And?" Grissom raised his eyebrows.

"One of the state troopers was patrolling up that way. If he hadn't been out looking for our guys, it could have been days before they found it. Those roads are pretty deserted back there."

"Found what?" Warrick asked, becoming more interested.

"Old pickup truck. It was off the road about twenty feet. Looks like someone tried to hide it, but the trees are pretty scarce out there. There was a body in the cab." Brass saw the expressions on the men's faces immediately express alarm, and he quickly added, "No, no…it's not…no."

The CSIs sighed with relief and Warrick pressed, "Come on, Jim…get on with it."

"The guy had no ID on him, so we'll have to try running his prints. We're not even sure it's his truck. We already ran the VIN and it came back to a dead guy from Reno…hasn't been registered in years. So we got some prints off the inside and outside of the vehicle to check out. And uh…" The captain grew more serious. "There was some blood…in the cab behind the seats. Not much though," he added quickly.

"You think this has something to do with Nick's kidnapping?" asked Grissom.

Brass sat down on the edge of the table. "The license plate came back to Paula Davenport's Escort."

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed this one! I know there's not quite as much Nick in it, but they have to figure out how to find him, don't they? ;-) I promise we'll keep tabs on him as we go along tho.**

**Just an FYI in case anyone is interested...I'm using actual towns and roads in the area for the story and spend quite a lot of time studying the map, LOL. So if you want to check one out and see where all of this is going on, be my guest. Also, the A'Le'Inn is a real place, as is the ET Highway. Google it. I'm not sure I'd stay overnight there, but I would definitely stop by for some fun!**

**Also, I really hated to kill Louie. :-( That was tough, but it had to be done.**

**Finally, much thanks going out again to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Leave a review and let me know what you think. :-)  
**


	8. Chapter 8

"_The guy had no ID on him, so we'll have to try running his prints. We're not even sure it's his truck. We already ran the VIN and it came back to a dead guy from Reno…hasn't been registered in years. So we got some prints off the inside and outside of the vehicle to check out. And uh…" The captain grew more serious. "There was some blood…in the cab behind the seats. Not much though," he added quickly._

"_You think this has something to do with Nick's kidnapping?" asked Grissom._

_Brass sat down on the edge of the table. "The license plate came back to Paula Davenport's Escort."_

_

* * *

_

After a long night of waiting and worrying and pacing the hallways of the LVPD lab, Catherine Willows finally had the answers she needed. She took a seat in Gil Grissom's office and made a phone call. "Jim…it's Catherine. We've got some results."

"Did we get an ID on the body?" Captain Brass asked as he sat in the Indian Springs Police Department's break room, drinking his third cup of coffee for the night.

"No, not yet. He had absolutely nothing on him. His prints aren't in the system, and his DNA didn't kick anything back in CODIS. Sara's checking all of the missing person reports."

"Chances are no one knows he's missing yet."

"You're probably right. We got ballistics back too. The bullet that killed him wasn't from the same gun that killed Paula Davenport, but it's consistent with the guards' weapons that were taken."

"Sounds like Becker and Juarez are both killing now. What about the blood?" asked Brass.

"It came back to Nick." Catherine sighed. "He was in that truck, Jim. And he's hurt. This isn't still blood from the first carjacking."

"I know." The captain paused. "We'll find him, Cath." When she did not respond, he went on. "We figure they must have ditched the truck and taken our John Doe's car."

"Great," said Catherine. "We don't know who he is, so we have no idea what they're driving now."

"Even if we did, who knows how many times they're going to change vehicles. Anything on those prints?"

"Most of them came back to Becker and Juarez…he was driving. There were a couple of unknowns, and then a few from…" She put on her glasses and picked a report up off of the desk. "…a Cody Walsh."

"Is he on the list of people Becker ran with or knew?"

"No…he hasn't actually gone to prison, but he was held in the Clark County jail a few times for some minor assaults and burglaries."

"Check those dates," said Brass. "Maybe Becker…or even Juarez…was held there at the same time."

"I'll have Archie look into that." She made a few notes on the report. "So…did they carjack this Walsh guy and he's lying out there somewhere dead too?"

"I don't know. The truck wasn't registered, so maybe they just stole it. Go ahead and email me his information. We'll check him out."

* * *

It had been a long night for Nick as well.

As he had predicted…feared, really…the darkness brought with it a cold that cruelly embraced him. The sounds of birds were replaced by the incessant drone of crickets and howling of coyotes that at times he thought might drive him mad. That wasn't what kept him from sleeping however. There were too many other things working against him in that department.

He had not moved since Juarez had left him, partly because of the fear that they would come back and see that he wasn't dead, but mostly because of the pain and the fear of bleeding out. It seemed, hours later, like the bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed down considerably, and he was afraid that any movement could start it up again. But his arms were numb from lying on them for so long, and he decided to risk it by shifting his body slowly so that he was lying on his left side so as not to put undue pressure against the wound on his right side. He settled into a position that, while certainly not comfortable, he felt would do.

_I'm not supposed to be here now._

Paul Stabler.

He was a friend from college in town for a convention. Nick was supposed to have picked him up at the airport the morning after he was taken from the prison. He was going to drop him off at the MGM and then meet him later for a beer and some catching up. He wondered if Paul knew what had happened or if he was left waiting at the airport, calling Nick's cell over and over with no response.

And tomorrow. He had the day off and the air conditioner guy was scheduled to come by the house and fix the damn thing. Nick kept having to hit the thermostat with his hand to get it to kick back on. _Shit…it's gonna be hot as hell in there when I…_ That did it. He began to tear up as he realized that these things he had planned…these normal, everyday things that he was going to do…they weren't going to happen. And there was a very real possibility now that neither would anything else in his life…that everything going on right now would be the very last things to happen in his life.

Nick closed his eyes, but it was just as dark with them open. He lay shivering, staring into nothing but darkness until a radiant glow illuminated the ground in front of him. It was the moonlight, shining as it had the night before when it glinted off of Juarez's gun as Nick begged for his life.

_Just let me go. _

_

* * *

_

Grissom's black SUV rolled slowly down the bumpy dirt lane leading to Cody Walsh's trailer. Brass sat beside him and Warrick was in the backseat. Behind them was an Indian Springs patrol car carrying two of Sergeant Lars Kinsey's officers. The vehicles stopped in front of the trailer and all of the men got out.

Before he even looked out the window, Walsh heard the cars coming. _Oh fuck._

Brass went up the stairs and knocked on the door as the others waited. The captain knocked again. "Cody Walsh? Las Vegas police!"

The door opened and Walsh peered out. "Can I help you with something?"

Brass showed his badge. "I'm Jim Brass." He nodded toward the others. "Gil Grissom and Warrick Brown from the Crime Lab. We need to ask you a few questions."

Walsh looked doubtful but said, "Uh…sure. What's this all about?"

"Mr. Walsh, we found an old Ford pickup truck abandoned off the side of the road…had your fingerprints in it. Would you know anything about that?" Brass eyed the man.

"Um…yeah…I…had a truck like that, but it was stolen."

"Stolen?" asked Brass. "Okay…okay. When was that?"

Walsh shrugged. "I don't remember exactly. It's been a few months."

"Did you report it stolen?"

"Nah." Walsh shook his head. "Wasn't worth it. I didn't drive it…wasn't even registered. So…um…do I get it back now or what?"

"It may be awhile, Mr. Walsh." Grissom spoke up. "The truck is evidence in a crime now. There was a body in the front seat."

Walsh did not have to fake the feeling of sickness that overtook him. _Aw hell…they killed him._ "That's…that's awful. Who was it?"

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "You think it's someone you know?"

"I…I don't know. Not many people around these parts that it could be, I guess."

"Are you familiar with a Ronald Becker?" Brass asked.

Walsh appeared to think about it and then looked down briefly before swallowing hard. "No…I don't think so. Doesn't ring a bell. Course…like I said…not many people around out this way."

"He was in the Clark County lockup when you were there on a burglary charge a year ago," Warrick said.

"Sorry. There was a lot of guys in there. Maybe I knew him. I don't know."

"We have reason to believe that Becker had something to do with this murder," said Brass. "And since he was in your truck, we'd like to take a look around if you don't mind."

"Well…uh…" Walsh stammered. "Like I said, it's been gone for a few months. You think he's the one who stole it?"

"Oh, we think he took it," Warrick answered. "But not a couple of months ago."

"We have a warrant." Brass held up the paper for Walsh to see.

The man sighed and opened the door wider. "Come on in."

* * *

Nick knew he must have slept at some point during the night. He knew because one minute it was dark and cold and the next minute it was bright and hot. His body was stiff, and God…he ached all over. Hunger pangs gnawed at his stomach again. He knew they would pass…that he could live for weeks without food. But his thirst would not stop tormenting him…not until he satisfied it…and he knew that had to happen within the next day or so if he was to survive.

The thought of trying to push his way up the hillside again was overwhelming to him. The shade of the trees and the coolness of the breeze on his sweat covered skin were tempting him to stay put, but no one would ever see him down here. He had to get to the road. As if to emphasize that point, the sound of a speeding vehicle passing above reached his ears.

Nick had lain on his left side all night to keep the pressure off of the bullet wound in his right side, but he needed his good right leg to push him along, so he slowly rolled over. The motion brought with it great pain in his left leg and ankle, and a muffled cry escaped his gagged mouth. He lay face down on the ground, panting and trying to keep from throwing up as he waited for the wave of pain to pass, though he knew it would come again as he continued to move. Finally he felt able to try again, and with all of the strength he could muster he pushed off with his right leg. He tried his best to keep his wound above ground as he did so, but after a few pushes he realized that was going to be impossible. He simply did not have the strength. Each advancement jostled his broken bones as well as dragged his wound along through the dirt and grasses. He gritted his teeth and moved on.

After what seemed like a hundred pushes, Nick was finally clear of the trees. The sun beat down hard on him and within minutes of leaving the shade he was sweating profusely and feeling the burning on the back of his neck. He kept going, moving slowly, his progress at times only inches. But nature soon took its toll. Nick stopped, gasping for breath in the heat, and looked up at the road. It might as well have been a million miles away. His head was pounding now, and he lay it down against the ground, feeling the dusty dirt stick to his sweaty face. _God __damn__ it._ Tears of frustration and despair came as he realized his mistake. _Should have…should have crawled at night…when it was cooler…been up there in the morning. _ It would take him all day to reach the top now, assuming he survived the heat and pain. By then it would be dark and no one would see him even if cars did come by. _No._ He closed his eyes. _Just for a minute._ But as he started to give in to unconsciousness, he lost his foothold and slid backward several feet before hitting a large rock that stopped him. The pain shot through his leg, causing him to cry out again as he lay there helpless with no idea what to do next. _Please…somebody…_

_

* * *

_

Cody Walsh's trailer looked neat as a pin on the inside. Although the air had a musty odor to it, upon closer inspection of the furniture Grissom could smell the lemon scent. He raised his eyes to look at Walsh. "Did you, uh, do a little cleaning recently, Mr. Walsh?"

The man shrugged, hands in his front pockets. "Yeah."

Grissom pursed his lips and continued examining the end table and coffee table. He stopped suddenly as something nearby caught his eye. He crouched next to the sofa and leaned in for a closer look with his flashlight, then looked up at Walsh again. "You missed a spot."

"What have you got?" asked Brass.

"I'm not sure…" Grissom replied as he snapped some pictures of a faded, ragged pillow. "But it looks like blood to me." After photographing the pillow, he picked it up and used scissors to carefully snip out a 4-inch square of material with several dark stains on it.

"What happened there, Cody? Little accident?" Brass cocked his head and looked at the man.

"Uh…yeah…yeah…I was…I was sittin' there…carvin' an apple. Knife got away from me. Shoulda cleaned that up, huh?"

Brass didn't answer him as Grissom bagged the fabric.

"Hey, Walsh!" It was Warrick calling out as he entered the trailer. "How long's it been since you had some company out here?"

"Couple of months, I guess," said Walsh.

"Well, you must be an awfully heavy drinker then. I found a whole bag of empty Bud bottles out back." The CSI stared hard at the man. "All the prints on 'em are gonna be yours then, right?" Warrick walked over close to Walsh. "But I don't think so. I think you had company just this week. I think I'm gonna find Ron Becker's prints on some of those bottles. And I think…" He leaned in very close to the other man's face as he held up an evidence bag. "I think that your company was wearin' these shirts I found in your burn barrel."

Walsh stood up straighter, his look of uncertainty now replaced with one of defiance. "I don't know nothin' about that."

"No?" Warrick's voice had a hard edge to it and got louder as he continued. "You don't know anything about _these_?" He held up the bag with the shreds of fabric, about ninety percent burnt black and ten percent a sooty orange color. "_These_ are pieces of prison issued t-shirts!"

"I don't think so." Walsh shook his head.

Warrick backed up a little, his voice calmer. "Yeah…yeah they are. We're gonna test 'em and we're gonna prove it."

"I don't…those are…"

"Save it! You _know_ what they are and those guys were here!" Warrick was back in the man's face again, shouting.

Walsh shook his head. "No…"

"And you let them stay here! With a hostage, right? They had a hostage with them, didn't they?"

Grissom had left the room but appeared again and answered Warrick's question for Walsh. "Yes…they did." He nodded at Brass and Warrick. "Come take a look."

Brass indicated to one of the officers to watch Walsh and then followed the two CSIs down the hall to an open closet door. As Grissom stood back and pointed, Brass and Warrick leaned over to look inside.

Warrick began to seethe as he saw the pipes with the pieces of cut duct tape adhered to them near the floor. "Grissom…are you sure…"

"I found hair and what appear to be skin cells on the adhesive." Grissom knelt down just inside the closet and began cutting away the tape to bag as evidence.

"The son of a…" Warrick spun around and headed back for the living room with Brass close behind calling after him to stop. But Warrick wasn't listening and kept going until he reached Walsh, giving the man a hard shove to the chest. "Where did they go?" He gave him another shove, this time causing him to trip backward over a footstool and land sprawled on the couch. "Where the fuck did they go?"

"Warrick!" This time it was Grissom shouting at him, and the supervisor quickly got between his CSI and the suspect. "Back off! Now!"

Warrick was breathing hard, his eyes blazing as he stared past Grissom at Walsh. He then looked down at Grissom who was almost toe to toe with him now and looking extremely angry. He gave Walsh one more glare and then backed up as Brass motioned for one of the officers to get Walsh.

"Cody Walsh, you're under arrest for harboring a fugitive. Get him out of here." The captain watched as Walsh was placed into handcuffs and led past him to the door.

"Jim!" Warrick stared in disbelief as Walsh was taken away. "What the hell? He knows where they are! We need to find out where they went!"

Grissom stepped up. "He's not going to tell us _anything_ right now, Warrick. We need to get him into interrogation and get him to talk."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how long that's gonna take? Meanwhile Nick's…Nick's…"

"Hey…Warrick…come on," Brass said gently. "Look, I pretty much popped him outta here so you wouldn't make things any worse. But the fact is we really don't have any proof right now that he did anything."

"What?" Warrick looked from Brass to Grissom. "No proof? What the fuck do you call all this evidence we just gathered?"

"I know what we _think_," Brass continued. "But if we don't _prove_ it within 48 hours, that guy's out of custody and we'll never see him again. We need to find their prints on those bottles…see whose blood that is on the sofa…and see whose DNA is on that tape. _Then_ we've got him. _Then_ we can hold him. And _then_…he's gonna tell us everything we need to know."

Warrick shook his head and ran his hand across his face, looking indignant. He looked at both men once more before turning around and leaving the trailer, slamming the screen door behind him. He was just in time to see the police cruiser pull away as another one was coming up the driveway.

Brass and Grissom came out of the trailer as well. Grissom loaded the evidence bags into the SUV while Brass instructed the newly arrived officers on securing the scene and keeping watch until they were sure they wouldn't need to come back for more evidence. Grissom slammed the back of the vehicle closed and approached Warrick.

"When we get back to town, I'll need you to run this stuff back to Vegas."

Warrick's mouth dropped open and then he shook his head hard. "Uh uh…no way…_no way_, Grissom! I want to talk to this guy!"

Grissom sighed heavily. "I know, Warrick. I know you do. But we don't have a case unless the evidence gets processed." When the other man did not respond, he added, "You can come back."

"Oh…what? You're gonna wait on me? Yeah, right…you can't do that. We need to move fast on this. And damn it…I want to be there. I _have_ to be there."

"Look…call Sara. Have her meet you halfway, okay? It'll take you two hours tops there and back. He won't even been booked by then. Okay?"

Warrick appeared to be considering Grissom's words, but walked past him without saying anything and got into the SUV.

Brass stood by the vehicle and caught Grissom's eye as he watched Warrick get into the car.

"Let's go," said Grissom.

* * *

**Thanks for continuing to read and review! I hope this chapter was satisfying as things begin to move along with the case. You guys still with me? :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

"_Look…call Sara. Have her meet you halfway, okay? It'll take you two hours tops there and back. He won't even been booked by then. Okay?"_

_Warrick appeared to be considering Grissom's words, but walked past him without saying anything and got into the SUV._

_Brass stood by the vehicle and caught Grissom's eye as he watched Warrick get into the car. _

"_Let's go," said Grissom._

_

* * *

_

Cody Walsh sat at the table in the Indian Springs Police Department's interrogation room, fidgeting and looking nervously around the room. He put a finger to his mouth, chewing on the nail while his left foot tapped up and down. He was alone, but not unseen.

Outside the room, watching him through the one-way glass window, were Jim Brass, Gil Grissom, and Warrick Brown. Sergeant Lars Kinsey approached the men. A uniformed officer accompanied him. "Okay…Clemons here is going in with you to keep an eye on him. Who else is going in?"

"That would be me," Brass spoke up. He looked at the two CSIs. "And Warrick."

The tension on Warrick's face seemed to melt away and he let out a sigh of relief.

"But he's gonna behave himself, right?" Brass gave him a hard stare.

"Yep," answered Warrick.

"All right then…let's go." Brass headed around the corner to the door of the room.

"Warrick." Grissom grabbed his arm as he started to follow the captain. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't." He tried to pull away, but Grissom held fast. "_What_?"

"I mean it. Don't blow this. The least of it would be a lawsuit and he goes free. But the worst of it…"

Warrick nodded. "I know," he said quietly. "I'll do it right." His arm was let go and he went to meet Brass by the door.

The two men entered the room. Officer Clemons had already taken his position near the door inside. Walsh looked up as they entered.

"Hey, Cody…how ya doin'?" Brass asked as he took a seat and Warrick opted to stand, leaning against a table next to the wall.

Walsh looked back and forth between the two men. "All right…I guess," he said nervously.

"I'm gonna get right down to it, okay?" The captain folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward. "If you have any idea where they were heading, you need to tell us now."

"Do I…I need a lawyer, don't I?"

"Are you asking for one? 'Cause I can get you one, but it's gonna take time, and if something happens while we're waiting…if they kill someone else…" Brass sat back in his chair and shrugged. "Well, we're just gonna have to add that to the list of things you're an accomplice to, Cody. It's up to you."

"But I…I didn't do anything. I just…" Walsh bowed his head.

"I know you didn't, Cody," Brass said gently. "I know you didn't. You just…what? Let them stay the night? Fed 'em? Becker's got something on you, doesn't he? He threatened you…intimidated you." He leaned forward again. "You didn't have a choice, did you, Cody?"

The suspect looked up and slowly shook his head, his eyes tearing up.

"Did they have a hostage with them, Cody? Did they have a CSI with them?"

Walsh swallowed hard and nodded hesitantly.

"Where'd they go, Cody?"

"Did…did they kill him?" Walsh asked. "Is that who was in my…the truck?"

Brass exchanged glances with Warrick before asking again. "Where did they go, Cody?"

Walsh looked down at the table and sniffed, then sighed and said softly without looking up, "Caliente."

Brass felt his heart leap at the word, but showed no visible reaction. Warrick, however, immediately jumped up and left the room.

Grissom was still standing in front of the one-way window when Warrick approached him, breathless. The supervisor answered the question before he could ask it. "Sergeant Kinsey's already notifying the Caliente P.D., Warrick. And I'm going to call Catherine and have her check the list to see if Becker knows anyone there."

"But what…"

"I want you back in there with Brass."

"Grissom…"

Grissom put his hand on Warrick's back and guided him back to the interrogation room door. "See what else you can find out from this guy in the meantime." When Warrick looked at him doubtfully, he added, "We have to work as a team, Warrick. It's going to take _all_ of us to figure this out and find Nick. Right now…this is your part."

Warrick fixed Grissom with a stare, still unsure. "And you'll…"

"Yes. We're on it, Warrick. The minute I know something, you'll know."

The younger man finally relented and went back into the room where Brass and Walsh still sat across the table from each other. This time he took a seat next to the captain.

* * *

The loud rumbling from above woke Nick with a start. _Oh my God…they're back…they came back._ He lifted his head and looked groggily around. He was caught…not quite halfway up the hill but definitely out in the open and definitely unable to get back to the bottom and play dead. So he lay where he was, unmoving, eyes closed, and waited. _God…please…please._ The rumbling had stopped, but there were no more sounds from above…no doors slamming…no voices. Still, he waited.

Nick lay for at least five minutes, almost convinced that he had only dreamed the sound, but not sure enough to move…not just yet. And then he heard it again, this time a bit closer and louder. A second later he jerked as something hit his elbow and he felt wetness drip from it, running down his arm. Another second later and he was hit in the back, leaving a damp spot on his shirt. His head was next, two hits, one after the other, and then a third, his hair matting there against his scalp.

His heart was pounding as Nick quickly assessed his situation and then made his move, rolling slowly and carefully onto his side and then onto his back. The small effort cost him precious strength, but his reward was great. Now the thunder cracked instead of rumbling, and it seemed to break the sky wide open, and the rain fell hard and densely, the drops assaulting him all over, and he lifted his face up to the sky and let out a sigh of relief mixed with elation as the water soaked his exhausted and aching body.

The effect on him was immediate. The heat seemed to melt away as the cool water drenched him. He opened his mouth as wide as the gag would allow, and some of the precious liquid found his dry tongue. A drop at a time, it was not enough to reach his parched throat, but within a few minutes the material between his teeth was saturated and he was able to draw the moisture from it. His mouth and tongue were sated, but his throat remained dry. It was not enough. _Slow down._ He closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the sky again, feeling the rain dance over his skin, and let out another sigh of relief. When he could stand the waiting no longer, he bit down on the cloth and closed his lips around it. The water it had absorbed was released and he sucked the material until it gave up every last drop it held, then let it all trickle down his throat.

The water was no longer cool, but it was wet and that's all that mattered. He wasn't sure it was enough to save him, but God…it felt so good. Nick lay his head back down and savored the feeling. Overwhelmed with the sheer feeling of survival…of being alive and having hope, if just for this moment…tears spilled down his cheeks, blending with the drops of rain.

* * *

Brass looked at Warrick and then back at Walsh. "All right, Cody…tell us what happened."

The man shook his head and looked back, his eyes pleading with them to believe him. "They just…showed up. I swear. I haven't heard from Ron since right after I got out. I didn't…I didn't plan this. I didn't want to be a part of it."

"Yeah?" Warrick leaned across the table. "You didn't want to be a part of it? Then why were you, man? You let them crash there, you gave them clothes and a truck, and then you let them _leave_ with a hostage and you did _nothing_?"

Walsh lowered his head. "I didn't know what to do," he mumbled.

"Didn't know what to _do_?" The CSI stood up and leaned over the table, putting his face close to the other man.

"Warrick." Brass eyed him.

"You didn't know what to _do_?" Warrick asked again. "You could have called the cops! What _did_ you do after they left, man? Huh?"

Walsh shook his head silently, not looking up.

"I'll tell you what you _did_! You cleaned up the evidence. You tried to _hide_ the fact that they were there. But you didn't get it all, did you, Walsh? Huh? And when it comes back and we have _proof_ that they were there…that you helped them…you're going down for everything right along with them."

"All right…all right. Come on, Rick…sit down." Brass put a hand on the younger man's back as he spoke, and Warrick did as he asked, his face still hard with anger. The captain turned his attention back to the suspect. "Cody…he's right. The evidence is going to tell us what happened. But why don't you help us out here, huh? Maybe we can work something out, okay?"

Sniffing, Walsh looked up. His eyes moved between the two men at the table before settling on Brass.

"All right." Brass gave him a small smile. "Now…what'd they do with the car they came in? Is it out at your place?"

Walsh nodded and spoke softly. "It's in the woods…behind the trailer…maybe a…half…half mile back."

Brass took a few notes and then asked, "What about the hostage, Cody? The CSI? Was that his blood we found on the couch? Is he hurt?"

Walsh swallowed hard and glanced at Warrick before looking back at Brass and then down at the table as he shrugged slightly. "Yeah…a little…I guess."

Warrick clenched his teeth, fuming. "What do you mean by 'a little'?" he asked evenly, trying to stay in control, aware of the detective's presence next to him.

"I dunno…" Walsh mumbled. "He just…"

"Hey!" Warrick slammed his hand down on the table, startling everyone in the room but especially Walsh as the CSI was now standing again, looming over him. "You were there! You _know_! Now quit screwin' around and tell us what happened!"

"Okay! Okay!" Walsh shrunk back away from Warrick, head down but raising his eyes. "They showed up at my door…Ron and that other guy…Manny, I think he called him."

"No one else?" asked Brass.

"No." Walsh shook his head. "I guess…well, I found out later…they left him in the car…the…what did you call him?"

"CSI," said Warrick as he sat back down. "He's a CSI, and he's my partner, and you'd better get moving on this story because I'm running out of patience."

"Okay…yeah…" Walsh cleared his throat. "So they were at the door and the guy got out of the car and took off running. And they ran after him. I don't know what happened then, but…they brought him back with them. I saw Ron push him down and hit him once in the face, but when I saw the guy…looked like he'd been knocked around before that too."

Warrick and Brass looked at each other for a moment before Brass said, "That was outside, Cody. How did his blood get on the pillow?"

"That was…the next day. I was outside, but…I heard 'em. Manny did it. I don' t know…he was yellin' something about the guy runnin' his mouth. Ron pulled him off of him and made him get out. That's when they left."

"And they took the CSI with them?" Warrick asked.

Walsh looked at him and nodded.

Warrick stood up quickly, nearly knocking over his chair, and began to pace back and forth behind Brass. "I still don't get it, man. You let them lock him in your utility closet for the night, didn't you? You could have helped him…let him go. You could have gone _yourself_ too!" He stopped pacing and stared at the man. "But you didn't do anything. You just watched them beat on him and then let them take off again with him? Why'd you do that, man?"

Walsh's face reddened and he looked away as he spoke. "Ron…he said…he didn't want me to get into trouble…didn't want to leave him for me to deal with. That's why he took him with them when they left, even though…" He stopped short and looked down again.

"Even though what?" Warrick walked over to stand next to him. When the man did not answer, he crouched down next to him and ordered, "Look at me!" As Walsh's eyes met his, he asked again, "Even though _what_?"

"Even though…they said…they didn't need him anymore."

* * *

Nick couldn't be sure how long the rain had lasted, but it had been long enough for him to take in several swallows of water. At one point he had felt his stomach clench and threaten to expel what he had worked so hard to take in. But it soon settled down and he had started a pattern of taking in more frequent, smaller amounts of water.

Now he lay on his back, eyes closed. Although the rain had stopped, the sun had not come back out, something for which Nick was extremely grateful…until he felt a cool wind blow. Hours earlier, baking in the heat, he would have given anything for such a breeze. But now all it did was chill his wet skin, causing an involuntary shudder.

Down below where he lay, he could hear the rushing of water. The storm had filled up the previously dry creek bed. If it came down to it…if he absolutely _had_ to…he could make his way back there to get more water to drink, but he would be trading away the possibility of being found. There would be no crawling back up after that. And why choose water to survive if surviving meant only a few more days at the most out here alone waiting to die? No, he couldn't go back down. He had to press onward and upward, and God help him if he happened to lose his footing again and end up below, caught in the creek with no way to get out.

"_She drowned."_

_This is the girl I found in the desert, man._

"_I am aware of that. She drowned. Desert… no desert, I don't care. She drowned."_

Nick carefully rolled back over so that he was face down, moaning as his body painfully protested. It took him a moment to breathe through it and prepare himself mentally to move. When he was ready, he pulled his right leg up, bent at the knee, and then pushed off with it. He felt his foot slip on the wet grass and mud, but it soon took hold and he was able to move a few inches. Another wind blew, and he shivered and looked at the cloudy sky, unable to tell where the sun was or what time of day it was. But he didn't need the sun to tell him. He knew. Night was coming.

* * *

**First of all, apologies for the snafu last week. Apparently FF was having issues and the chapter kept appearing and then disappearing for days. Same with the reviews. I hope everyone eventually got the alert that the story had been updated and got to read it, but if not...bonus! You get two new chapters this week! LOL!**

**A note about this one...if you're reading this you're probably a Nick fan and don't need me to tell you, but for those who don't recognize it the little bit of dialogue Nick is remembering here is from "Anatomy of a Lye" when he was talking to Super Dave. :-)**

**Once again, a BIG thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate hearing what you think, and I'm happy you seem to like the story pretty well. :-)  
**


	10. Chapter 10

_Nick carefully rolled back over so that he was face down, moaning as his body painfully protested. It took him a moment to breathe through it and prepare himself mentally to move. When he was ready, he pulled his right leg up, bent at the knee, and then pushed off with it. He felt his foot slip on the wet grass and mud, but it soon took hold and he was able to move a few inches. Another wind blew, and he shivered and looked at the cloudy sky, unable to tell where the sun was or what time of day it was. But he didn't need the sun to tell him. He knew. Night was coming._

_

* * *

_

"Catherine…listen…we've got a lead. It looks like they were heading to Caliente. Find out if anyone on that list of Becker's friends lives there." Gil Grissom sat at the table in Sergeant Lars Kinsey's office at the Indian Springs Police Department as he spoke on his cell phone.

"Got it," Catherine answered. She was talking on her phone as she walked the halls of the Las Vegas P.D. lab.

"Any word yet on ID'ing the body found in the truck?"

"No, not yet. Hang on." She entered the Audio Visual lab and gave Archie the new information. As he began searching records on the computer, she continued, "Okay…Archie's searching. We've got the P.D. up there on the lookout, right?"

Grissom sighed. "Yes…we do. It's a small town, but it would help to know what they're driving. What about the evidence Sara picked up?"

Catherine leaned against a table behind Archie, watching him work. "You _know_ what I'm going to tell you, Gil. Becker's and Juarez's prints on the bottles, Nick's epithelials on the tape and his blood on the pillow."

She was right. He had known what the evidence would show, but he had to ask. "Okay…so we have proof now to implicate Walsh in helping them."

"Is he talking?"

"He was when I left them. I'm not sure how much help he can be as far as finding these guys though."

Archie turned toward Catherine with a somber look on his face, shaking his head.

She leaned over to look at the computer screen and followed his finger as it traced down the list of cities. Caliente was not on it. "Damn it!"

"What is it?" Grissom asked.

Catherine spoke into the phone. "There's no match, Gil…there's no one…" She stopped speaking as her voice broke. She took a few seconds to regain her composure, unwilling to let her supervisor think she might be losing focus or becoming too emotionally involved. Although how could she _not_ be? Not only was a member of her team…a friend…missing and injured with no way to find him or help him, but she felt even more helpless having to stay in the lab instead of being out actively working the case. And she knew that Gil Grissom was not capable of understanding that.

Except that he was. He simply could not find the words to express it without betraying his own vulnerabilities, something he felt was not appropriate in a CSI, especially a supervisor. To examine evidence and solve crimes meant he had to detach himself from everything else involved…the why…the emotion…the people. Unfortunately, he had yet to discover a way to do that on the job only and not also in his personal life. As he gave Catherine a moment to collect herself, he tried to think of the right thing to say to her, finally coming up with, "I'm sure we'll find him."

It was not what she wanted to hear. "Find who, Gil? Becker? Yeah, I'm sure we'll find him too, but I don't give a shit about Becker!"

"Catherine, I…"

"Oh. You mean you're sure we'll find Nick? Is that it? Yeah…we will…lying dead somewhere out in the desert or shot and crammed into the next car we find! Jesus, Gil, the longer this goes on the less likely we are to find him at all, let alone alive! They aren't going to keep dragging him around with them! At some point…" She stopped her tirade as she noticed Archie trying to get her attention. "What is it, Archie?" she asked impatiently. But when she saw the information he had pulled up on the screen, her eyes grew wide. "Whoa."

"Catherine? What? What do you have?" Grissom asked.

"Hang on," she replied. "I'm putting you on speaker." She hit the button on her cell phone and laid it on the desk next to Archie. "Go ahead, Arch."

"Looks like we do have a connection between Becker and Caliente after all," the A.V. tech said. He punched a few keys on his computer and a photo of a dark-haired woman in her thirties popped up on the screen.

"His public defender," said Catherine. "Anna Mathis."

"What?" Grissom's voice rang out from the phone. "Why would he be going to see her?"

"Revenge?" asked Catherine. "For not getting him off at his last trial?"

"Oh, I don't know about that." Archie punched a few more keys and brought up a court document. "She might have gotten him off…just not at his trial. Take a look." He pointed to the screen.

Catherine began to read aloud. "A motion was filed for a mistrial when it was discovered that Ms. Mathis and Mr. Becker were engaged in a sexual affair. Mr. Becker refused to accept the agreement and be assigned a new public defender, although he did not deny the affair. He was subsequently convicted on all charges."

"Archie," said Grissom, "did Anna Mathis visit Becker in prison?"

"Checking now," he answered as he ran a database search. "Yep…looks like once a week starting right after the trial."

"For how long?"

"Up until…" Archie scanned the screen for the information. "…the breakout."

Catherine shook her head, disgusted. "We never thought a thing about it because she was his attorney. _Damn_ it!"

"Okay, look…" Grissom spoke up. "Archie, get me the address. I'm going to go call this information in to the Caliente P.D. and state police and get them over there ASAP."

"Are you going up?" Catherine asked.

"There's no time." Grissom was already up and walking back to the dispatch room. "Depending on which way we go it would take three to five hours. They'll get him. They'll get him and bring him down here and when we're done with him he'll go back to High Desert." He arrived at the dispatch room and finished with, "I gotta go. I'll keep you posted."

* * *

_His mother was calling him. But Nick didn't answer. Just a few more minutes, he thought as he lay in the grass on a hillside under his favorite tree. The other kids had gone inside as soon as it started to get dark, as was the rule in the Stokes' home, but he wasn't ready to go in yet. As his older brother ran toward the house, he had warned Nick that he would get into trouble, but he didn't care. He had to wait. It would take a little more darkness before he would be able to see it…Cygnus, the swan…a starry, brightly shining bird soaring across the night sky. He stared out from under the tree branches as one by one the stars came into view. The transformation was gradual, and yet he could not predict when or where each one would show. As he looked at one side of the sky, the other side would suddenly be dazzling with sparkling points of light and then he would look back and the other side of the sky would be trying to match it in brilliance and beauty._

_His mother called again. She would not be happy that he was ignoring her, and she would be even less happy when he came inside with the back of his clothes covered in dirt and grass, wet from the evening dew. Come on, he thought, his dark, brown eyes scanning the sky looking for the bird. He figured he had one more call from his mother before the next call would come from his father, something he definitely did not want to happen. The summer crickets were beginning their song, soft at first, but as others joined in the chorus the sound swelled and filled the air around him. _

_He heard the back screen door slam again and his mother's voice ring out, more insistent this time…Nickyyyy! He sighed and sat up, brushing away the dirt and leaves that clung to his clothes, and slid a few feet down the wet slope on his bottom before looking up one more time. And there it was…the great swan's wings stretched out forming a diamond cross in the dark, blue-black sky above him. He smiled at it, satisfied, and stood up. He brushed the back of his shorts off and could smell the wet earth and grass as he headed down the hill toward the house with the brightly lit windows._

_I'm on my way._ Nick moved his head from side to side and tried to brush his clothes off, but his hands were underneath him as he lay on the ground, and they would not cooperate as he tried to pull first his right and then his left in front of him. He lifted his head and squinted in the darkness as he looked down the hillside, trying to find the windows. But there was only darkness. Exhausted, he lay his head back down and stared at the sky. Again he found only darkness…no stars, no moon, no swan. But the crickets were real, weren't they? He could hear them all around him singing loudly. And the wet dirt and grass beneath him…he could feel it…smell it. It had to be real.

He lifted his head again to look downward. _She left…why did she leave? _Was she going to get his father? He didn't care now. He didn't care who came looking for him or how angry they might be with him for being late, as long as someone came. But no one called for him. He should go anyway. He tried to sit up but felt a searing pain in his right side. He let out a muffled cry and lay back down, confused and frightened. Something was wrong. _I should have gone in when the rest of them did._ Were they going to leave him out here? He tried again to move down the hill, this time without sitting up, but agonizing pangs shot through his left leg, causing him to stop moving. He lay helpless on his back, gasping for breath and shivering, his dark, brown eyes scanning the dark, blue-black sky above, and he began to cry softly. Why hadn't he just gone inside? _I'm sorry…I'm sorry._

_

* * *

_

Close to midnight, Warrick and Grissom sat in the break room at the Indian Springs P.D. sipping on cups of coffee.

"Why don't you grab some sleep, Warrick?" Grissom asked as the younger man yawned.

"Nah." Warrick finished up the yawn by shaking his head vigorously from side to side as if to try to wake himself up. "What about you?"

"Me?" Grissom raised his eyebrows along with his cup. He took a sip and put the cup down. "I grabbed a couple of hours earlier."

"Yeah…well." Warrick studied the small paper cup held between his two large hands, turning it around and around as he did.

"What is it, Warrick?"

"You missed the press conference this afternoon. They had it up on the TV earlier."

Grissom shrugged. "Sheriff Atwater doesn't have any more information than we do. I didn't feel the need to watch. Did I miss something?"

"He was just…I mean, it's his job. I know that. But man…" Warrick shook his head and looked at his supervisor. "He was all about trying to keep the panic down…making sure everyone felt safe, even though all the papers today were reporting on the body we found."

"Right. Well, like you said, that's his job."

"He didn't even _mention_ Nick. After the conference, one of the reporters called out a question about him and Atwater…he just said the 'hostage' was still unaccounted for. He didn't even use his _name_." Warrick's eyes were blazing with anger. "This is the third night, Gris. You _know_ he's not with them anymore. They'd be crazy to take him this far with them." He lowered his head and looked down at the table.

"We don't know that. They kept him inside the trailer with them the first night and then took him with them. They could still have him." Grissom leaned over, trying to make eye contact.

Warrick shook his head and still did not look up. "Okay then…second night…second night that we _don't_ know if he's inside somewhere with them or if…_Jesus_."

"Come on, Warrick, we…"

"The guard…Keller…" Warrick interrupted. "The one killed at the prison. They have his funeral yet?"

Grissom nodded, confused by the sudden change in subject. "Yes. This morning, actually. Why?"

"We had…uh…in a cooler in the SUV…we had his ear. Did they happen to…?"

"Yes. When Sara and Catherine got everything back to Vegas, they made sure Doc Robbins got it."

It looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off of Warrick's shoulders. He let out a deep breath and nodded. "Good…good."

"Hey! Guys!" Jim Brass' voice broke the mood as he came into the room, snapping his cell phone shut. Both Warrick and Grissom stared at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he had to say. The captain grinned. "They got him! They got Becker. State police are on their way down here with him now. Should be here in about four hours."

The two men continued to stare at him until Warrick finally said, "And?"

Brass knew what he wanted to hear. His smile faded and he let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Rick. He wasn't there. There was no sign of Nick or of Juarez."

Warrick glanced at Grissom as if to say "I told you so" and then looked back at Brass. "Was there _anything_ there? Any clues? Any evidence?"

"Well, Becker was there with the woman…Mathis." Brass helped himself to a cup of coffee and then sat down at the table. "They were…uh…in bed…when the cops broke in. She's been arrested for harboring him, but I don't think she knows anything else. They found a car there…plates say it belongs to a Louie Boardman from down in Goodsprings."

"He could be our John Doe," said Grissom.

"Probably," agreed Brass. "State police are checking with his relatives, and the car's being towed down to the lab garage for processing. It was full of a bunch of…well…it looks like he was out on an alien hunt."

Warrick leaned back in his chair. "Huh. Well, that fits with where the car was found…out near Area 51. That means they must have been heading north through that area up to 375 and then on over 'til they hooked up with 93 to Caliente."

"That makes sense," agreed Grissom. "But we still don't know if they took Nick with them the whole way."

"Or Juarez either, for that matter," said Brass as he got up to refill his coffee cup.

"At least it narrows down the search area to along those roads," said Warrick hopefully.

Grissom frowned. "It's still a pretty big area, Warrick." When the CSI shot him an almost pained look, he quickly added, "We'll find him. We'll get the information from Becker. We will."

"Damn right we will." Warrick leaned back and tried to hide another yawn.

"Go ahead and get some sleep before he gets here, Warrick. A few hours at least. I have a feeling once we talk to him we aren't going to be resting for awhile."

* * *

**Now we're getting somewhere, huh? :-) I hope you enjoyed this one! Thanks so much for reading and please leave a review to let me know what you think! I really appreciate it! **


	11. Chapter 11

_Grissom frowned. "It's still a pretty big area, Warrick." When the CSI shot him an almost pained look, he quickly added, "We'll find him. We'll get the information from Becker. We will."_

"_Damn right we will." Warrick leaned back and tried to hide another yawn._

"_Go ahead and get some sleep before he gets here, Warrick. A few hours at least. I have a feeling once we talk to him we aren't going to be resting for awhile."_

_

* * *

_

The screaming woke him up. Terrified, his heart pounding, Nick raised his head and looked frantically around, but he could see nothing in the darkness. Clouds covered the sky, obscuring any light from the moon and stars, leaving him lying in the pitch black night. He listened, and the other sounds around him that had once been familiar…the crickets, the breeze through the grass, the occasional scurrying of a wayward lizard…they all seemed foreign to him now, closing in on him, sounding closer and closer, almost like they were becoming a part of him. He tried to curl up but was restricted by his injuries and restraints, leaving him feeling even more vulnerable to whatever might be out there unseen in the darkness.

_It's like camping. It's just like camping. We used to go all the time. It's okay…we were okay. We were safe._ But the truth was that he hadn't liked the dark…not after the last lamplight was put out for the night and everyone crawled into their tents. That's when the other kids had thought it great fun to scare the littlest one, sneaking up on his tent and shaking it, growling like bears and cougars. _They laughed and ran away._ It scared him every time, even though he always knew it was coming. He tried not to cry, especially when he heard his father scolding the kids for the prank. He knew what would come next. He used the corner of his sleeping bag to quickly wipe his eyes as his father crouched down and peeked into his tent. _You okay, Nicky?_

Nick laid his head back down in the desert dirt and shook it from side to side. _No…no, Dad…I'm not okay…please._ Suddenly the screaming started again, causing him to jump. But his mind was clearer now than when the sound had woken him before. _Western Screech Owl. _ As if to confirm it, the owl shrieked a second time.

Nick looked up toward the overpass that was still so far above him. He had lost count of how many cars had passed since he'd been down there. Seven…fifteen…three? It didn't matter. He couldn't make it up there. The coolness that he had needed the night before to climb up was here, but now it worked against him. The breeze blew constantly, sometimes becoming a wind, and it chilled him to the bone where it hit his still-damp skin. Shivering warmed him up some, but he tried to stop it every now and then, just to be sure that he could, because he knew that when the ability to control it himself was gone it meant that he was heading toward severe hypothermia.

He was thirsty again. It was a constant presence now, taunting him as he tried over and over to draw more moisture from the cloth in his mouth. But cruelty prevailed as the gag was now dry while his clothes were still soaked, clinging coldly to his aching body. He wearily and painfully shifted position and closed his eyes again. _You okay, Nicky?_

_

* * *

_

The last time that Warrick Brown and Jim Brass had seen Ronald Becker, the prison inmate had an arm around Nick Stokes' throat and a gun under his chin as he dragged him out of the High Desert State Prison recreation room. Now they watched as a state trooper escorted the man into the interrogation room at the Indian Springs Police Department. He was directed to sit across the table from the two men, and his right hand was shackled to the chair before the trooper took his place standing guard by the door. Gil Grissom watched from the other side of the one-way glass.

Becker smiled across the table. His appearance was neat, his clothes clean, and his hair combed. "Heyyyy…I know you guys, don't I?" he asked as he was seated.

Warrick and Brass answered with silent, stony stares before the captain spoke. "Okay, Ron…c'mon…let's get to it. Where is the hostage? Where's the CSI you took?"

Becker shook his head and shrugged. "How would I know? I think uh…yeah…you know Manny? I think the two of them took off somewhere. I ain't seen either one of 'em in a few days."

"Is that right?" Brass laid a photograph on the table and pushed it toward the man. "Was that before or after you killed Louie Boardman and stole his car?"

Becker looked down at the picture and sniffed indifferently, unfazed by the sight of the alien hunter's bloody head. "Never seen him before."

"Where'd you get his car then?" Warrick spoke up.

"Manny showed up with it…said I could drive it awhile."

"Yeah?" asked Brass. "What about Paula Davenport?" He pushed a photo of the middle-aged mother lying in a pool of blood across the table.

"Nope." Becker shook his head. "Never seen her either. Nice lookin' lady though."

"All right, all right, look…" Brass put the photos away in a folder. "We got Cody Walsh. We know the three of you stayed at his place. We have proof…your prints…your shirts…"

"And the CSI's blood," Warrick added as he glared at the prisoner. "You had him with you there. You and Juarez left there with him, and now we find you shacked up with your attorney and he's nowhere to be found. So what happened? Where is he and where is Juarez?"

"What? It's my job to keep tabs on them?" Becker laughed. "Uh uh…I think that's _your_ job, slick. You get _your_ ass out there and find 'em if you want 'em. I ain't got nothin' to do with it."

Brass held a hand out in front of Warrick to stop him from going across the table at Becker as he knew he wanted to do. "Look…Ron…you're going back to prison. You know that, right? You're gonna get a lot of years added on for all of this...you know that too." He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Becker. "But listen to me. If the CSI dies…" He pointed a finger. "…then _you_ die. They'll give you the death penalty, and I can promise you…you won't be sitting pretty in a cushy cell for years on appeal. It's gonna be quick…done and over. Is that what you want? Huh?"

Becker just looked back at the captain and snickered.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Warrick asked, infuriated.

"I'm sorry…it's just…" The convict laughed again, shaking his head. "It's just…he said '_if_ he dies'." He leaned as far as he could over the table toward the other two men and grinned. "He's _already_ dead, man!"

It took a few seconds for the man's words to register, but once they did Warrick was out of his seat and grabbing Becker by the back of the neck. He flung him down hard against the table and held him there as he raged, "You son of a bitch! You motherfucking son of a bitch!" For emphasis, he pulled the man up and then slammed him down one more time.

"Hey! Hey, Rick…come on…hey!" Brass stood and tried to pull Warrick away. He looked over at the state trooper and nodded at him to intervene. The officer took hold of Becker and pulled him upright as Brass grabbed Warrick's arms. "C'mon, Rick…get off him…come on." He was able to pull the furious CSI back and then tried to get him to sit down, but Warrick would have none of it and instead began pacing angrily. "Warrick…come on…he's just trying to get to us…he's lying. C'mon…he's lying."

"Yeah," Becker laughed. "That's right. I'm just messin' with ya. I'm sure he's okay. I mean…yeah…Manny _shot_ him and _told_ me he was dead, but you're right…he's probably okay…wherever he is." He sat back in his chair and smiled with satisfaction.

Warrick continued to pace as the man spoke, the knot in his stomach getting bigger with every word. He didn't know if Becker was telling the truth or not, but it didn't matter. Nick was still a 418…a missing person…and they were going to keep looking until they found him, dead or alive. He stopped walking and said disgustedly, "Get him out of here, Jim."

"Now, hang on a minute." Brass held a hand up to Warrick and then looked at Becker who was still relaxed and smiling. "Tell us a little more about that, Ron. You say Manny shot him? When did he do that?"

The prisoner shrugged. "Don't remember."

"Well, let's see…it was after you left Cody's house…we know that. Was it before or after you killed Louie Boardman and took his car?"

"Told you…I don't know nothin' about that. Manny showed up with that car."

Brass smiled. "C'mon, Ron…you were there. Manny did it though, didn't he? He killed Louie. Just because you were there…you think you'll go down for that too, don't you? But you can tell us. It's okay. We know Manny did it."

Becker's smiled disappeared and he narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciously at the captain as he thought about his words for a moment. But then the grin returned and he slowly shook his head. "Nahhhh…didn't happen. Didn't see it. Wasn't there. Nice try though."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to report that we have apprehended one of the escaped convicts. Late last night, Ronald Becker was arrested at the home of his attorney, Anna Mathis, in the town of Caliente."

Clark County Sheriff Rory Atwater's face filled the television screen above the bar at the Knotty Pine restaurant on Front Street in Caliente. At 9:00 in the morning the homey, rustic eatery had hardly any customers. The ones who had to go to work had come in earlier for breakfast, and the ones who would come in to drink wouldn't arrive until evening. The few who were at the tables now fell somewhere in between. Unemployed or retired or just passing through…they took their time, sipping their coffee, reading the weekly paper, or gossiping with each other about things that were happening in the small town.

Most of the people in town had heard about the breakout but weren't too worried about it. Strangers came and went all the time around there, and the townspeople were used to looking the other way when they caused trouble and staring at them when they didn't. High Desert had had a few breakouts here and there, and the escapees were always caught within a short period of time. And so the residents of Caliente simply went about their business as usual.

But this time, there had been a kidnapping. There had been murders. And one of the prisoners had been found right here in their own little town. And he had been found in bed with one of their own. So this morning, the stragglers at the restaurant kept a close eye on the television as the press conference continued.

"We believe Mr. Becker and Ms. Mathis were continuing an affair that began when she represented him at his most recent trial."

"You want some more coffee, hon'?" The smiling waitress startled the man sitting alone in a booth watching the TV.

"Huh? Oh…oh yeah. Thanks," he mumbled and then watched as she filled his cup. The tag on her uniform said "Teresa".

After pouring the coffee, she laid his check on the table for the coffee and toast. Ninety eight cents. "You sure I can't get you something more to eat?"

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a one dollar bill and a few coins. "Um…nah. No…I'm good," he answered without looking at her. He laid the money on the table…one dollar and fifty five cents, then reached up and took the coins back, leaving just the dollar bill. "Sorry," he said, barely audible.

"It's okay, hon'." Teresa smiled down at him. "Times are tough for everybody." She put the check and the money into the pocket of her apron, then leaned against the booth and turned her eyes to the TV.

Atwater continued to speak. "There is still no sign of the other escapee, Manny Juarez, or of the kidnapped CSI, Nick Stokes. We believe they are still in the area and we are asking citizens to keep their eyes open…pay attention to strange behavior or suspicious activity. Juarez is considered armed and dangerous, so if you see him do not try to approach him. Call 911." The sheriff held up a photo of the prisoner and the camera zoomed in on it.

The man at the table quickly lowered his head and wiped his mouth with his napkin. When Atwater moved on to describing Nick, he looked back up to find the CSI's photo on the screen but then lowered his head again, putting his face in his hands.

"Are you okay, sir?" Teresa asked.

He nodded. "Yeah…sure...I'm fine."

Teresa looked back at the television and shook her head. "Tsk…such a shame. I hope they find them soon."

The dark-haired Latino man let out a tired sigh and answered quietly without looking up, "Yeah…me too."

* * *

"Okay, Ron…you say Manny shot the CSI, but you…'don't remember' when or where that happened. Have I got that right?" Now Brass was pacing the interrogation room as Warrick sat at the table.

"Yeah…sorry." Becker smirked. "Guess I wasn't payin' too much attention. It was pretty traumatic and all. I was afraid for a while there he was gonna kill me too."

At that, Warrick laughed out loud. "Gimme a break, Becker! You know _everything_ about _all_ of it. And you weren't afraid of _anything_. So c'mon…out with it. You talk pretty big…tell us what you know then. Help us get Manny."

"Don't know where he is. All I know is that he got tired of draggin' the guy around with us and he shot him in the head and dumped him somewhere."

Warrick gritted his teeth and let Brass continue the questioning. "And you have _no_ idea where that was?" The captain's voice rose louder as he walked over and stood close to Becker. "You just blanked it out? No idea where you were or when it was? Is that it?"

"That's it," said the prisoner.

Brass leaned over and spoke into Becker's ear. "I'm losing my patience, Ron. You're blowing it. Any chance you have at cutting a deal or getting a break…it's gonna be off the table soon. You'd better think about it. Now you'd better give us some useful information…and fast…or we're done talking."

Becker laughed. "Who the fuck do you think you're dealing with? Hell, I probably know more about this process than you do, and I know you ain't givin' me shit! It don't matter _what_ I tell you, I'm goin' back to the same ol' shithole, so why don't you quit blowin' smoke up my ass?"

Sighing, Brass looked over at Warrick and then took the seat next to him and began to tap his fingers on the table as he watched Becker who remained silent. He was just about to try another approach with the man when the door opened and Grissom entered the room.

"Gil," Brass greeted him. "What's up?"

Grissom stood next to the table and looked down at Becker as he spoke. "I've been listening to your conversation here for…what? A few hours now? Mr. Becker, it seems as though you don't have anything of value to say to us."

"Yeah? So?" Becker snorted.

"You can take him away now," Grissom addressed the state trooper.

Warrick sat up straight in his chair. "What? Gris…why? What's going on?"

"Manny Juarez just turned himself in to the Caliente P.D. And he wants to talk."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is still reading and enjoying the story. It means a lot to me! I really appreciate it and I love hearing what you think, so please leave a review if you're so inclined. Thanks! :-)**


	12. Chapter 12

_Grissom stood next to the table and looked down at Becker as he spoke. "I've been listening to your conversation here for…what? A few hours now? Mr. Becker, it seems as though you don't have anything of value to say to us."_

"_Yeah? So?" Becker snorted._

"_You can take him away now," Grissom addressed the state trooper._

_Warrick sat up straight in his chair. "What? Gris…why? What's going on?"_

"_Manny Juarez just turned himself in to the Caliente P.D. And he wants to talk."_

_

* * *

_

"What if he's not lying?"

"Hmm?" Jim Brass looked across the table at Warrick Brown, his mouth full of sandwich. The two men were having an early lunch at the Oasis restaurant in Indian Springs while they waited for the state police to arrive with Manny Juarez. Gil Grissom had decided to pass on the restaurant, opting instead for an apple and the crossword in the break room at police headquarters.

"Becker…what if he's telling the truth? About Nick?" Warrick absentmindedly stirred some ketchup on his plate with a french fry.

Brass set his sandwich down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "We can't think about that, Rick. That bastard was just screwing with us. We're gonna find him."

"Yeah, but…even if we do…Jesus, who knows what the hell they did to him or how long ago they left him…or where. Even if Nick was alive then, he might have…how long can he last?"

"Listen to me." Brass leaned over the table toward the CSI. "Nick's strong. He's tough. He's a survivor. And he knows we're looking for him…that we wouldn't give up. He'll hang on…he'll wait for us to find him."

Warrick looked hopeful but skeptical. "You think so?"

"Sure," the captain reassured him as he turned his attention back to his lunch.

"But Becker didn't even bat an eye when Grissom said Manny wanted to talk. Makes you think he knows there's nothin' to say…like…it's too late."

Brass smiled at him. "It's never too late, Rick."

* * *

At the time of the prison break, Brass had thought he'd detected a slight hesitation on Manny Juarez's part. He had tried to talk some sense into the man in the short time he had, but Juarez had left with Ron Becker…and Nick. And afterward, directly or indirectly, he was involved in the murders of at least two people. So the captain wasn't entirely surprised that Juarez had turned himself in. What surprised him was how long it took him to do so.

Brass, Warrick, and Grissom watched the captured fugitive through the one-way glass. Juarez sat with his head down, one hand shackled to his chair. "Did he say anything on the way in?" asked Brass.

"No." Grissom put his glasses on and flipped through a file folder looking at the papers and reports before pulling one out and examining it. "Looks like he just walked into the P.D. in Caliente at a little after 10:00 this morning and turned himself in. The report says he told them who he was, said he knew they had his partner, he didn't have anywhere to go, and he was tired, hungry, and broke and was ready to come in."

"What about Nick? Did he say anything about him?" Warrick asked.

The supervisor shook his head as he put the report back into the file and took off his glasses. "No."

"Well did they _ask_? Or did they just pile him into a car and bring him down here and leave Nick God knows where?"

"Yes, Warrick, they asked. They asked him as much as they could without a lawyer," said Grissom.

At that, Brass spoke up. "Did he ask for one? Gil, you know how long it's gonna take to get him represented if we want to talk to him up here?"

Grissom sighed. "I know." He looked through the window at the convict. "We don't have to worry about it though. Once they got him here he waived his right…signed the paper right in front of me. He said he just wanted to get it over with."

Warrick's face hardened. "Then let's get it over with."

* * *

Juarez looked up as Brass and Warrick entered the room, Grissom choosing again to watch from the outside. The two men took seats opposite the convict, barely in their seats before Brass spoke.

"Hey there, Manny. How ya doin'?"

"Jim…" Annoyed with the captain's sociable approach, Warrick looked sideways at him, but the man did not return the look.

"How are you, Manny?" Brass repeated.

Juarez lowered his head again and then raised his eyes to look at Brass. "Okay…I guess."

"Good…good…listen, we really appreciate you coming in like this. Saves us all a lot of trouble, you know?"

Juarez nodded slightly, his head still bowed.

"Remember back at the prison? How I told you that Ron would get you killed if you went with him? Huh?" Brass tried to catch Juarez's eye. When he did, he continued, "I knew you were smarter than that, Manny. I knew you'd come through. Now…" He shifted in his chair and tapped a finger on the table. "I need you to help me finish this, okay? My guy is still missing. I need to find the CSI that was taken hostage. Where is he, Manny?"

"I…" Juarez shifted his eyes between Brass and Warrick, lingering on the increasingly angry face of the CSI before settling on the captain's round face. "I don't…I'm not…I'm not sure…exactly."

Warrick narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Now you listen here, you little shit," he said evenly. "We're not gonna…"

"Rick…hang on…" Brass stopped him. "All right, Manny…what do you mean you aren't sure…exactly?"

"I mean…we…left him…somewhere…along the road, you know? And…well…hell, man…it's the desert. It all looks the same. That whole road…it was just…hilly and hot and…damn it, Ronny made me turn around and go back. I got all…I didn't know where we were."

Brass raised his eyebrows. "Made you go back? Go back where? Why?"

Juarez took another glance toward Warrick before answering. "To…back to where we left him. Ron wanted…he wanted to make sure that…that…the guy was dead." He hung his head and refused to look at either of the other men.

Warrick and Brass both sat in stunned silence, the weight of Juarez's words hanging heavily in the room. He had just appeared to confirm what Becker had told them…that Nick was dead. Brass kept his composure but swallowed hard as he stared straight ahead. Warrick's face was set in an expression of disbelief mixed with devastation while his green eyes turned shiny.

Brass cleared his throat and asked calmly, "Manny? When you left him…what did you do? Why would he be dead?"

Juarez sniffed without raising his head. "He…uh…"

"Look at us," said Warrick sternly. When the man did not comply, he gave the table a hard shove causing Juarez to lurch backward in his chair and jerk his head up. "I said _look at us_!" Juarez did so, trembling, and Warrick added, "Now _answer_ the man! What the _f__uck_ did you do to my partner?"

"I d…d…didn't…I…" The prisoner stuttered and lowered his head again but raised it quickly, fearful of another outburst from the CSI. "I didn't do anything. Ron…he…he told me to pull over. I didn't even get out of the truck."

"What did Ron do?" asked Brass.

"He made the guy get out of the back…pulled him out…and he…we were on like…a…a bridge…sort of."

"What did he _do_?" Warrick's stomach suddenly had a huge knot in it.

Juarez looked at him and then at Brass. "He…he shoved him off."

Warrick jumped up from his chair and leaned over the table. "What? What the fuck do you mean he…"

Brass held a hand up. "Manny…you said you went back…he made you go back to…see if he was dead. What happened then?"

"Well, he…Ron…he didn't think…he asked me if I thought…you know…the fall killed him. And I said sure…yeah…we didn't need to go back. But…he wanted to be sure. He made me turn around."

"What happened when you went back?" asked Brass.

"He was right." Juarez said in a shaky voice. "The guy…he was tryin' to crawl up…even though…I don't know…it looked like he was hurt…his leg maybe…but…he was pushin' himself up the hill…and…Ronny hollered down at him."

Up until now, Brass had tried to remain level-headed and calm, hoping to lure the escapee into a sense of security so that he would feel more at ease and reveal more details to them that would be helpful. But he was finding it harder and harder to control himself as the man's story progressed.

Warrick, however, had made no secret of his feelings during the interrogation, but this latest information broke down any façade he was still managing to keep up. He walked away from the table and turned his back to the others, his head down and his hands on his hips. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of Nick, injured, hands behind his back, trying to save himself…to make his way up a hill after a fall of …who knew how many feet? And then he thought of Becker standing there, looking down at him, and…he didn't know if could stand to hear more.

"Come on, Manny…just get it out." Brass' voice had a hard edge to it. He no longer had an interest in trying to persuade the man with his mild demeanor. "Just tell us everything. Now!"

"Okay! Okay…" Juarez shifted uncomfortably in his chair with a pathetic, miserable look on his face, and he shrugged slightly. "He shot him. Ron shot him."

Warrick lowered his head and shook it without turning around. That was it then. Becker had been telling the truth about Nick being shot. The only thing he lied about was who did the shooting. He had a feeling that Juarez was being honest with them about what had happened, but in telling the truth about _who_ did the shooting he was also acknowledging that there _was_ a shooting. He turned around. Brass was sitting with one elbow propped on the table, his hand over his eyes. Warrick's eyes met those of Juarez. "So he's dead," he said simply and quietly.

"I…I guess so."

Brass looked up quickly. His face looked like he had aged twenty years in the last five minutes. "What do you mean you 'guess so'? Is he or isn't he?"

"Well…" Juarez cleared his throat. "Um…after Ron shot him, he kind of fell…he slid back down…you know…back down at the bottom where the trees were."

Warrick's eyes grew wide and he walked closer to Juarez who seemed to shrink into his chair as he gazed up at the tall man. "Did you _see_ that happen? You saw him get shot and fall?"

"Yeah…but then…Ronny wanted to make sure. So he made me…go down there…and check…you know…to make sure he was dead this time."

"C'mon, man…spit it out!" Warrick edged closer to him. "Just tell us what the fuck happened and where he is so we can get him back!"

Frightened, Juarez shrank back even more and looked at Brass for some of the understanding he had seen in the man's face earlier, but he found it had been replaced by infuriation. "I…I went down there…like he told me to…and the guy…he was layin' down there…lookin' up. Ronny got him kind of in the side, you know? He was bleedin', but…he was awake."

Brass and Warrick exchanged encouraged glances before Brass asked tentatively. "So…he was _alive_. Is that what you're telling us, Manny?"

Juarez nodded slowly. "Yeah. He was. But…Ron had told me to…he wanted me to make sure."

Warrick looked up at the ceiling. _Shit._ Maybe Becker was telling the truth after all. He had sent Juarez to do his dirty work and finish Nick off. He looked at Juarez and moved even closer to the man as he shouted. "So? What'd you do then, Manny, huh? Did you shoot him? Huh? Did you just stand there over him and kill him in cold blood?"

"No! No! I…" Juarez stammered and leaned away from the CSI as best he could. "I didn't! I…I shot into the woods…made Ronny think I killed him. But I didn't. I didn't shoot him. I told Ron I did, but…I didn't shoot him." He shook his head vehemently.

Warrick looked over at Brass and nodded. "He's alive, Jim…he's alive."

The captain sighed, looking weary, and ran a hand over his face. "Rick, that was…what? Hey, Manny…when was that? When did you leave him?"

Juarez had his head down and continued to speak softly, shaking his head and mumbling, "I didn't kill him…I didn't kill him…"

"Yeah, we know. So you're a big hero, right, Manny?" Warrick turned his attention back to Juarez. "You didn't shoot him, so what…you want a medal or somethin'? Huh? Answer the man! When did you leave him there? How long ago was that?"

Juarez looked up with teary eyes and looked at Brass. "It…it was…the day we left Cody's place."

"Monday," said Brass, shaking his head. "He's been out there two days, Rick. Two nights."

Warrick was barely paying attention. He leaned over and put his hands on the table, his face close to Juarez's as he questioned, "_How long_ after you left Walsh's place?" When he did not get an answer fast enough, he grabbed the man by the front of the shirt and pulled him upright. He then shoved him hard against the wall, the chair coming with the prisoner, still attached to his wrist with a handcuff. "How long?"

Brass did not make a move to stop him. Neither did the state trooper. But the door opened and Gil Grissom entered the room. But he did not intervene either as Warrick continued to hold Juarez against the wall.

"How long was it?" he demanded again.

Juarez stammered, "A…few…a few hours!" Warrick released him then, and Juarez stood still, dazed and frightened, until the state trooper came and sat him down in the chair at the table again.

Warrick paced back and forth as Grissom sat down next to Brass and asked, "Mr. Juarez, was this _before_ or _after_ you and Ron Becker killed Louie Boardman and took his car?"

"It was before," said Juarez. "But…Ron…Ron killed that guy…not me."

"We don't _give_ a shit about that, man!" Warrick yelled, coming over to the table again. "We want to…"

"Warrick…" said Grissom to quiet him. He unfolded a large paper and laid it on the table in front of him. It was a topographic map. Several points on it were already circled and labeled in red…the prison, the Midway Market in Indian Springs, Cody Walsh's trailer north of that, a spot on a back road even farther north where Walsh's truck and Boardman had been found, and Anna Mathis' home in Caliente. "Mr. Juarez, this is Cody Walsh's trailer." Grissom laid a finger down on the point on the map and then moved it along the road until he came to the place where the truck had been found. "And here is where Louie Boardman was killed. So…" He took out a green marker and traced along the road in between the two places. "You're saying that the CSI was left somewhere along here, is that correct?"

Juarez looked at him and nodded silently.

"Okay, you were driving north. From which side of the road did Ron push him off?"

"Um…the right. I pulled over to the right."

Grissom made some notations on the map. "Okay…the east side. What else was there? What do you remember about the place?"

"I…like I told them…it all looked the same to me." Juarez looked from Grissom to Brass and back again, avoiding the angry eyes of Warrick.

"I'm sure it did," said Grissom. "But go ahead and describe it to me."

"It was…the bridge…overpass…whatever…um…about thirty feet across, I guess. There was a guardrail…metal."

"Was it one solid piece of railing? Or two?"

"Um…" The prisoner closed his eyes momentarily, appearing to think about it, and then opened them again. "One piece."

"Good. What else?"

"The hillside was dusty…covered with sagebrush…pretty steep…some rocks. There were trees at the bottom…where the creek bed was."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Creek bed? Was there water in it?"

Juarez shook his head. "No. It was dry."

"How far down from the road was it?"

"About…" Juarez looked at his thumb which bore a small scab where he had snagged it on a thorn as he had skidded down the ravine toward Nick. He looked back at Grissom. "About thirty…forty feet? I'm not sure."

Grissom nodded and looked down, studying the map in front of him and making more notes on it. Then he looked up and declared, "We're done. Go ahead and take him."

Juarez lowered his head as the trooper unlocked the cuff securing him to the chair and pulled him to his feet. He said nothing more as he was escorted from the room.

Warrick sat down in the chair that the prisoner had just vacated. He and Brass both leaned over and studied the map along with Grissom. "Gris? Do you know where he is?"

The supervisor put the end of his pen in his mouth as he continued to look at the map and then removed it and pointed with it to three areas he had marked while talking to Juarez. "It looks like…within that span of road…there are three possible areas he could be. He's right…it all looks pretty much the same out there, but from the description he gave, it has to be one of these spots." He looked up at the other two men. "There's nowhere else he could be."

Brass stood up and headed quickly for the door. "I'll notify the highway patrol and state police and meet you outside."

Warrick and Grissom locked eyes for a moment before Warrick said determinedly, "Let's go."

* * *

_He was dying and he knew it. No one could bleed that much and still live. He didn't want to cry, but he was scared, and the tears were unstoppable. His leg hurt so badly. He moved it a little and whimpered from the pain._

"_Stop moving it, Nicky."_

_He looked up at her with wide, frightened brown eyes. "Am I gonna die, Mom?"_

_She smiled at him sweetly and ran a soft hand through his hair. "No, sweetie, you aren't going to die. Let me see."_

_He pulled back the little hands that had been holding his leg as he sat on the ground near the stable. A stream of bright red blood had run down the front of his leg from just under the knee where he had snagged it on a nail as he tried to climb over the wooden fence surrounding the horses._

_His mother tenderly wiped the blood and the wound clean with an antiseptic pad, being extra gentle when he hissed as she passed over the scrape. "You know, your daddy told you not to climb on the fence, didn't he? He's not going to be happy."_

_He looked up at her and asked, his lower lip trembling, "Do we have to tell him?"_

_She pressed some gauze over the wound, securing it with tape, and then looked down at him. "You know we do," she said kindly. "You just tell him you're sorry, okay?"_

_He nodded, wide-eyed._

"_Come on…we're going to see the doctor now."_

_He shook his head and the tears that had started to dry came again. "No, Mom…I don't want to."_

_She put her arms around him and pulled him close. "I know. But it will be okay."_

_He nestled against her and looked at the blood that still stained his hands. "Are you sure I won't die?"_

_She held him even tighter. "I'm sure, baby. It's okay…everything will be okay."_

He was dying and he knew it. He had made it through the night, but as morning dawned it brought with it a renewed sense of dread. Pain radiated throughout his body, his gunshot wound feeling especially strange now, though he could not figure out exactly why. The sun was beating down hard and hot, but still he shivered. His clothes were dry in places, still wet in other places. He had made a half-hearted attempt to climb again, but had stopped, sobbing as his weak muscles in his one good leg had refused to cooperate with him anymore. He now lay face down in waist-high sagebrush, sure that they were not going to find him. At least not in time to save him. He drifted in and out of consciousness, losing track of time and not caring anymore.

During one of his moments awake, he thought he heard the engine of another car coming. But he gave it no thought. It would pass like the others had. Except…this one seemed to come and go…and then come again. He raised his head slightly, tilting an ear upward. _Oh my God…oh…God. _ Now he recognized the sound. It passed overhead and faded away, then passed over again going the other direction. It was a helicopter.

* * *

**Thank you all again for reading! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you find this chapter satisfying. Please drop me a review and let me know what you think. Thanks again! **


	13. Chapter 13

_During one of his moments awake, he thought he heard the engine of another car coming. But he gave it no thought. It would pass like the others had. Except…this one seemed to come and go…and then come again. He raised his head slightly, tilting an ear upward. Oh my God…oh…God. Now he recognized the sound. It passed overhead and faded away, then passed over again going the other direction. It was a helicopter. _

_

* * *

_

Nick's position in the taller brush helped to keep some of the hot sun off of him, but he knew it was no good for being seen from above. The sound of the helicopter revived the clarity of his mind as well as his strength, and he tried again with all of his power to move. He pushed with his good right leg, wincing as he managed to drag himself a few inches, but the pain from his injuries was too much and the muscles in his leg were too worn out. He stopped, the sweat running down his face as he lay exhausted and panting. He heard the helicopter buzz by again, and the last clear thought he had before he drifted off was that this would all be ending soon…one way or another.

"_Leave them alone, Nicky."_

_He pulled his small hand back and looked up at her. "I wasn't gonna hurt 'em, Mom."_

"_I know you weren't, sweetie. But they don't like to be bothered."_

_He looked back at the small patch of bluebonnets, crouching as close to them as his little legs would allow, and watched the three fat bumblebees as they buzzed around the blue petals with the white caps. He turned his head back to her and grinned. "They look soft!" _

"_They probably are, but let's not try to find out, okay?"_

"_Okay." He watched the bees some more, drawing back a bit as one flew a little too close to his face, humming loudly as it went by. He laughed. "Kind of like a little bird, huh, Mom?"_

"_Kind of. You really like the birds, don't you, Nicky?"_

"_Yeah." He continued to stare at the bees as they went about their work on the flowers. "But I like these too. I like birds __and__ bees!" _

_She quickly tried to stifle the laugh that came, but she was too late._

_He turned to her and asked, "What?"_

_She looked at his innocent and endearing face and smiled. "Nothing." She reached out and tousled his dark hair. "I love you, Nicky."_

_He beamed. "I love you too, Mom."_

_

* * *

_

Word spread quickly that they had narrowed down Nick's location, and soon every available state trooper, highway patrolman, and Clark County deputy was en route to the three search areas. A helicopter had been dispatched and was making passes over the areas but so far there had been no sign of the missing CSI…the 418.

Grissom and Warrick headed to the area in Grissom's SUV. The first place they would reach was a good two hours from Indiana Springs. Although they had topographic maps of the areas and had studied several satellite maps online, they had no real concept yet of just how vast and difficult the terrain would be. But as they pulled over at the first overpass, it became clear to them. The two men got out of the truck and made their way between all of the police cars to the edge of the road. Brass was already there surveying the area.

"Jim." Warrick nodded his head in greeting the captain. "Anything?"

Brass looked out at the ravine which was covered with uniformed men and women searching through the trees and brush. He shook his head. "Not yet, but they've pretty much covered it once already. I don't think he's here."

"What about down there?" Warrick pointed to the bottom of the slope. "Where the creek would run? The trees are pretty thick. Maybe…"

"No." Brass was shaking his head again. "They looked…even went up and downstream just in case he tried to crawl out that way."

"Yeah…well…two days…he could have gotten pretty far. Maybe they need to keep going."

Brass and Grissom looked at each other before Grissom said gently, "Warrick…from the description Juarez gave of his condition…and that was two days ago…I don't think he was in any shape to go very far."

Warrick shot a quick, stunned look at him. "Damn, Gris…think you could be a little more optimistic?"

"I'm being realistic, Warrick. Look, I want to find him as much as you do, but to do that…and to find him _alive_…we have to be sensible about it. If he's hurt as badly as Juarez said, then he wouldn't make it very far up the creek bed."

"You're talkin' like you believe everything Juarez said about him."

"If I didn't believe him, we wouldn't be here." Grissom eyed the CSI for a moment, waiting for him to say something in return. When he didn't, opting instead to brush past him to look over into the ravine, he turned to Brass. "Jim, any word from the search parties in the other areas?"

The captain looked from him to Warrick and back again, sighing. "They just about to start searching the middle spot. And the team should be getting to the northernmost one right about now." He looked around the area again. "Hey, Rick! What do you say we head up to the next spot?"

Warrick put his hands on his hips and turned to look at him, then looked wistfully back at the ravine. "I guess so," he said quietly.

Brass smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay…let's go…c'mon."

Reluctantly, Warrick turned and walked with the captain back to his car.

"We'll see you up there," Brass called over his shoulder to Grissom who nodded his head in reply.

During the short drive to the next search area, Warrick remained quiet, staring out the window. Brass looked over at him several times, deciding to leave him alone with his thoughts, but finally he broke the silence. "You know he's right, don't you?"

"No…I don't," Warrick answered, continuing to look at the scenery passing by outside.

"I'm sorry, Rick. I want this to turn out good…you know I do. But we have to be prepared for what we might find."

Warrick shook his head. "Yeah? You're the one who told me it's never too late."

"I believe that. But…we have to be reasonable when we're searching. There's no sense looking where he ain't, you know? Or where he can't get to. Even if it means…you know…when we find him…" The captain's voice trailed off as he stared straight ahead as he drove. He did not expect Warrick to respond, and he was correct in his assumption.

The two men rode in silence for the next several minutes until they rounded a curve and came upon several emergency vehicles. Brass flashed his badge, and an officer moved a barricade to the side to allow the car to proceed.

Once they were parked, Brass and Warrick got out of the car and took in their surroundings. The officers were just beginning to descend the slope to start the search. Although it was getting late in the day, the afternoon sun still beat down hard upon them. Brass wiped his brow with a handkerchief and walked away, looking for the officer in charge of the scene, while Warrick squinted and shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked over the edge of the overpass.

* * *

Something small hit his head, waking him, and Nick thought he must be falling again. But he wasn't moving. He couldn't move now even if he wanted to. The exhaustion had finally consumed him, and he lay quiet and still. He couldn't even open his eyes to see what it was that hit him and ricocheted off, tumbling down the hillside. Over the sound of his scant and slow breathing, he heard other sounds…rustling above him…below him…more dirt and rocks being disturbed and falling. And…voices? Talking…yelling…some calling his name. Is this what it's like? There was no bright light. _I'm not ready yet…I'm not going._

_

* * *

_

Warrick watched the searchers descend into the ravine, some picking their way carefully down the slope and some scooting all the way to the bottom to begin working their way up. It was a lot of men and women, but it was a large area. He heard them calling Nick's name as they went, and he listened in vain for the sound of his partner's voice calling back. He turned and looked at the other officers milling about on the overpass and saw Brass speaking with one of them. He scanned up and down the road looking for Grissom's vehicle, but apparently the supervisor had not yet arrived from the first search area. Warrick checked his cell phone just in case he'd missed a call or a text saying that they had indeed found Nick there, but there was nothing. Cursing under his breath, he put the phone back into the clip on his belt. He then turned and looked back down into the ravine…and there he saw it. The bottom of a shoe, barely sticking out from some tall sagebrush shrubs about a quarter of the way down the hill. They'd walked right past him.

His eyes grew wide and his heart began to pound fiercely. Warrick pointed and yelled, "Hey! There! There! Right there!" As he saw the searchers look up at him and then around the area, trying to see where he was pointing, he ran toward the end of the bridge, jumping over the guardrail before he even reached the end. The drop was longer than he expected, and his legs gave out beneath him, dropping him on his rear end for a moment. But he was quickly back up on his feet and scurrying down the hillside toward the patch of shrubs. He skidded to a stop and pushed the brush aside and found himself staring down at the back of Nick's body.

Warrick stood stunned for a moment, taking in the sight and unable to move. He heard Brass call his name, and that broke his spell as he looked up to see the captain and the others looking down. He looked back at Nick and knelt next to him. "Jesus."

Nick was lying face down, his body shaking, his arms drawn up behind his back and still secured with the handcuffs taken at the prison, his wrists raw and bruised where the steel rings encircled them. There was dried blood on the lower right side of his back. His left foot…the one Warrick had seen from above…was at an odd angle. His head was turned to the side, a strip of material stretched between his lips and tied at the back of his head. His eyes were closed and his skin pale, except for the scattered bruises and abrasions. He was covered head to toe in dusty dirt, some of which had caked in places where he had sweat or the rain had not quite dried completely.

"No, no, no, no, no….c'mon, man…c'mon." Tentatively, Warrick reached out and placed his fingers against Nick's neck. His skin felt oddly cold and yet hot at the same time, but beneath it Warrick could feel the slow, subtle beat as blood flowed through the man's veins. He looked up again, and it seemed to him that everyone was moving in slow motion. "Get the paramedics! Now!" he shouted. He looked down at Nick. "Somebody get me a key! I need a goddamned handcuff key!" He pulled out his pocketknife and carefully sliced through the gag around Nick's mouth, then pulled it gingerly away from him.

Nick stirred slightly as he felt something touching him…first on his neck and then his head. _What the fuck? Just leave me alone._ But suddenly…he could breathe easier. Eyes still closed, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tried to lick his parched lips. But his mouth was dry as well and the action only triggered a coughing fit. He turned his head to the right which caused him to inhale more dust with each breath. Something touched him again and he moaned as he laid his head back down. _Just leave me the fuck alone._

"Nick…man…can you hear me?" Warrick placed a hand against Nick's back and rubbed it gently, but firmly enough to let him know he was there. He leaned over close to him and spoke quietly. "Hey…it's okay, man. We're here. We got you, Nicky…you're okay…we got you."

The searchers had gathered around them by now but were keeping a good distance away to give them room. Warrick looked up to see Brass making his way carefully down the slope toward him, trying to keep his balance. He arrived, winded, and bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Warrick looked from him back up the hill. "Jim…man…where the fuck are the paramedics?"

"Unloading…be right here," he said in between breaths. "How's he doin'?"

Warrick shook his head. "I don't know, man…I don't want to move him. Got some blood back here…could be the gunshot wound. Looks like his leg might be broken."

Brass knelt down on the opposite side of Nick and reached for his hands. He slid a key into the lock of the handcuffs and then turned it, springing the cuffs open. He pulled them off and laid them to the side. He then took both of Nick's hands in his own, rubbing his wrists gently to get the circulation going, taking care not to make contact with the scraped areas. Next he held Nick's hands and moved his arms slowly to his sides, causing the CSI to cry out as his cramped muscles protested painfully.

Nick tried to move, a feeble attempt that was only partially successful, but he wanted to get away from whatever it was that was hurting him. _Oh my God…oh fuck…stop it…God…please stop it_

"Hey, hey, hey…hold on there, Nicky." Brass put his hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it. "Hold on, buddy…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…it's okay…it's okay." He looked up the hill and was relieved to see the two paramedics on their way down carrying their equipment and a litter for transportation. He stood up and moved over next to Warrick when they arrived.

The paramedics had been waiting for the call that said Nick had been found, and they had been briefed on the situation, so they came prepared. Warrick reluctantly removed his hand from his friend's back and allowed the two men to get to work assessing their patient. The first thing they did was make sure that he was breathing freely. Once they were certain that he had a clear airway, they placed a cervical collar around his neck to ensure that moving him would not worsen any injury he might have to his head or neck.

One of the paramedics began preparing an IV line while the other got ready to move their patient. "Nick?" he asked loudly. "Can you hear me? We're going to turn you over now, okay?" As his partner had his hands full, he looked to Warrick for help. The CSI nodded and together the two men gingerly rolled Nick over onto his back, taking extra care not to jar his injured leg.

Nick moaned as his body was moved and tried to push them away with his newly freed hands. Warrick took hold of one while the paramedic held the other one so that his partner could start the IV. Nick was still trying to move…to get away…so Warrick tried to calm him down even though he wasn't sure that Nick could even hear him. "C'mon, buddy…it's okay." He spoke softly while he held the injured man's hand tightly and put his hand on his shoulder. "Stay still, Nicky. We're gonna get you out of here. You're okay…you're safe." He turned and looked up at Brass with an anxious expression that said he didn't know what else to do.

Brass watched the activity and took in Nick's appearance now that he was face up. It was obvious that the kid had been through hell. The captain was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they had found him alive. Even before he saw his condition, he was sure that there was no way he could have survived all that had happened to him, especially after having been abandoned out here for days. He watched as one of the paramedics leaned over Nick and pried one of his eyes open, peering into it with a penlight.

Nick winced at the pain as the bright light filled his vision. _Jesus fuckin' Christ. _ He could see nothing beyond the light. _What the hell is it?_ He tried unsuccessfully to close the eye, but something was holding it open. Moving his head did not work either, and suddenly it was the other eye that was being invaded by the burning light. When it too was finally released, he blinked rapidly, staring straight overhead seeing nothing but a blurry dark blue that might be the sky. His breath came in ragged gasps. _What the…?_

As one of the paramedics started checking Nick's vital signs, the other began cutting away his shirt. When he got to the bloodied area on his side, however, he cut around it leaving the material that was adhered to the wound. The blood had soaked the area there around the torn place where the bullet had entered. He wet the area with a saline solution to loosen the fabric before carefully prying it away from Nick's skin. The small bullet hole began to bleed slightly as the coagulated blood around the wound was removed. The paramedic cleaned the area off and bandaged it, then rolled Nick's body slightly to attend to the exit wound on his back.

Nick began to shiver again as his bare torso was exposed and he felt the wetness on his skin. He tried once again to shake his head, but it would not move. He moaned miserably as he closed his eyes again. _I've gone and fucked something up and now I'm paralyzed._ And what _was_ that on his skin? Something was touching him where he had been shot. It was moving. And now he was wet there again. _No more rain…please. _He was so thirsty, yet he couldn't take the thought of getting soaked again and spending another night freezing in wet clothes. He tried his best to get away from whatever was touching him. _Please…no more._

"Blood pressure's up…so's his heart rate," announced the paramedic that was monitoring his vital signs. "I need you to move back please, sir," he addressed Warrick.

Reluctantly Warrick let go of Nick's hand and he moved away as the paramedic slipped in front of him. It didn't seem to matter anyway. Nick was in his own world.

"Is he conscious?" One paramedic asked the other. He then put his hand on Nick's chest, trying to keep him still. "Nick?" He leaned over him trying to get his attention. "Nick…can you hear me?" He put a hand to Nick's forehead and used his thumb to raise his eyelid, looking into it with the light again.

Nick flailed a hand, trying to push him and the intruding light away.

"Take it easy…we're gonna get you out of here."

They came back. _Oh God._ They came back for him and were going to take him somewhere else now. _This is never going to end._ He raised his other hand and tried to swipe with it, but he felt resistance and then a stronger force as it was pinned to the ground. _No…not the handcuffs again…please._ He tried to pull his arm free again, but it was held down even more firmly.

"He's gonna pull the IV out, man. Keep him still," the paramedic said to his partner.

"I'm trying!" He grasped both of Nick's arms and held them down at his sides. "Hey…Nick! Nick! Let us help you! You need to stay still, okay?"

Was it Becker? _Don't move._ Or maybe Juarez? It didn't matter. Their hands were on him and _God __damn__ is it raining again? _ He would not go with them this time. He would not. _Just let me die...please…just leave me alone…just… _"Let me die." The words were soft…mumbled…he barely heard them, but he _did_ hear them. And they were his. _How…?_ They had taken the gag off. He could speak.

At the sound of the words coming from Nick's mouth, Warrick sat up straight and looked up at Brass who was standing behind him. The captain looked just as surprised as Warrick felt. "Was that…? Did he say that?" Warrick asked the paramedics who were looming over the seemingly still-unconscious man. They turned to look at him and one of them nodded, but if anyone had any doubts about whether Nick had actually spoken or not, there was no mistaking what he did next.

His body was aching fiercely, and the hands touching him…moving him…were making it worse. _Stop…just stop…please._ He tried to push with his hands again but to no avail. _I'm not going with them…I'm not…I'm not…for fuck's sake stop touching me! _He opened his mouth and let out a long, terrifying wail that was a mixture of both fear and pain.

The sound was enough to stop everyone around them in their tracks. To Warrick it was like a punch to the gut. To Brass it was like a knife ripping through his heart. The paramedics were initially taken aback but quickly recovered enough to realize that their patient was still screaming and had begun thrashing about on the ground, trying to get away from them. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on there! Nick! Stop moving!" His arms were now free, one covered in blood from the torn out IV, and he was trying to push off the ground with them.

Warrick and Brass had also been shocked into immobility, but now they scrambled to their colleague's side. Brass watched as Warrick grabbed Nick by the shoulders and leaned over him, then put one hand on the side of his head. "Nick!" He held his shoulder firmly and shook it slightly. "Nicky, look at me! Open your eyes, man! C'mon…Nicky…" He looked to Brass for support but the older man looked helpless as well. He turned his eyes back to his partner who was shaking hard now and whimpering, sure that he was about to be abducted again or killed. Warrick held his hand against Nick's face now, trying to keep him still. "Nicky! _Look_ at me! It's Warrick! Please, man…it's okay…you're okay!"

Nick felt the additional hands on him, trying to hold him in place like the others had. And now there were voices…taunting him…calling his name…Nicky. _Fuck you…don't you call me that!_ He screamed desperately again. He would not go down without a fight. _Stop it…stop it...stop it! _"Leave me…alone…" he managed to gasp as his newfound strength began to fade. _God…please…don't make me beg._ "Please don't…"

Warrick looked back to Brass. "Jim…" He didn't know what else to say, but his eyes were pleading for help.

Brass crouched down on the other side of Nick who was now mumbling incoherently. His eyes were open, but they stared, unseeing. Or maybe, Brass thought, he was seeing something that wasn't there. The captain cocked his head to one side, watching as Warrick continued to try to calm his partner and keep him from moving. Nick was still fighting it, albeit weakly. Brass reached out toward the hand that Warrick had on Nick's shoulder and took it. Warrick looked up at him in surprise, and Brass slowly pulled the CSI's hand away from Nick. He then looked at the hand Warrick had on Nick's face and nodded, and Warrick took that one away as well. The two men and the paramedics watched as Nick, now free from anyone's touch, began to slowly calm down.

Still trembling, Nick's breathing began to even out. _They're gone…maybe they're gone._ Still frightened, he was afraid to move now, but he blinked his eyes several times and the sky above him became a bit clearer.

One of the paramedics made a move toward Nick to fix his IV, but Brass and Warrick both shot him a look and shook their heads. They watched Nick, and when he had lain quietly for a few moments, Warrick leaned closer to him and said softly, "Nick?"

Nick's eyes drifted to his right side and he blinked again. "Warrick?"

* * *

**Lucky Chapter 13! Oh my gosh...I'm sorry this took so long to get posted, but it took that long to write. It was pretty difficult. And actually, I wanted it to go on further but I knew I couldn't get it finished in a reasonable amount of time, so I decided to break it up into two parts. I present to you here, part one. I hope you enjoy it. :-)**

**I know you've all stuck with me this whole time waiting for the payoff...Nick's rescue...and here it is...at least the first part of it. :-) I very much appreciate you reading so far and I really hope that this chapter was satisfying for you. Please drop a review and let me know what you think!**

**And don't worry! We aren't finished yet. Several chapters yet to come. I hope you'll stay tuned!  
**


	14. Chapter 14

_Still trembling, Nick's breathing began to even out. They're gone…maybe they're gone. Still frightened, he was afraid to move now, but he blinked his eyes several times and the sky above him became a bit clearer._

_One of the paramedics made a move toward Nick to fix his IV, but Brass and Warrick both shot him a look and shook their heads. They watched Nick, and when he had lain quietly for a few moments, Warrick leaned closer to him and said softly, "Nick?"_

_Nick's eyes drifted to his right side and he blinked again. "Warrick?" _

Warrick had never in his life been so happy to hear his name. A big grin spread across his face as he saw Nick looking at him…really _looking_ at him. "Yeah…" he said, almost laughing with relief. "Yeah…it's me, man." He grew serious again as he assured his friend, "It's me…we got you now…it's okay."

Nick stared up at him, wide-eyed, afraid to look away for fear Warrick would disappear. He wouldn't be able to take it if it turned out to be another hallucination. He reached out with his hand, grasping three or four times before he finally got a grip on the front of Warrick's shirt. _He's real. I can feel him. He's real._ He held onto the shirt tightly, pulling on it as if to draw the man closer. His face crumpled as tears came and his trembling lips croaked again, "Warrick." This time it was not a question.

Warrick leaned forward so that Nick could see him better, and Nick let go of his shirt for a second, only to grasp again, his shaking hand gaining another tight hold on it near the shoulder. Warrick reached up and put his hand over Nick's as he maintained eye contact with him. "It's okay…we're here."

The confusion in Nick's mind was beginning to sort itself out, but the combination of his fear and pain with the guarded relief he felt overwhelmed him, and he clutched Warrick even tighter and began to cry harder.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Warrick said softly, putting his other hand on Nick's shoulder. "It's okay, buddy…you're okay. We're gonna get you out of here." He saw his friend's pleading eyes wanting to believe him. "Hey…look…Brass is here too. We got you…okay? We got you."

Nick shifted his eyes to his left and saw Brass leaning toward him, smiling. He reached out with his other hand, grasping, trying to make contact with the man. "Jim…" he managed to choke out weakly between frightened sobs.

Brass caught Nick's hand as it was reaching out to touch him and held it tightly as he looked down at him. "Hey there, Nicky," he said gently. "We're here, okay? We're right here with ya." He put his other hand on Nick's head, smoothing his hair back from his face. "Okay?"

Eyes locked on the captain, Nick gave a small, shaky nod. He was slowly starting to settle down some, although he still had a firm grip on Brass' hand and Warrick's shirt.

"Okay then." Brass nodded back, still smiling. "Let's get you taken care of, okay?" He turned and nodded at the paramedics, then looked back at Nick. "These guys are gonna get you fixed up and then we'll get you out of here, okay?" Hesitantly, Nick gave another small nod, and Brass said, "Okay…we're gonna let them in here. Warrick and I will be right here…we're not going anywhere." With that he allowed one of the paramedics to move in between him and Nick and he let go of the CSI's hand.

Nick uttered a small whimper as he felt the break in contact, but the captain assured him again that he was not leaving him. His eyes quickly moved to his right as Warrick carefully pried his clutching fingers from his shirt and gently placed his arm at his side before moving back and letting the other paramedic step up. Nick's eyes roamed back and forth between the two medics as one began to assess his vital signs and the other worked on getting the IV back into place.

Brass and Warrick watched quietly as the men went about their work and Nick, clearly still very afraid, tried his best to stay calm. The paramedics next moved to attend to Nick's injured leg and ankle. One of them cut a slit up the front of his jeans on that leg to expose it so that they could examine the injury. It was obvious that there was damage there, but the skin had not been broken by any bones so they splinted the leg so that it would stay immobile as they moved him.

Since losing physical contact with Brass and Warrick, Nick had been trying to concentrate on the fact that he was indeed about to be rescued, but even that thought failed to alleviate the anxiety he was still feeling. The confusion and fear as he had slowly become aware of what was happening combined with the pain in his body kept him on his guard, like a wounded animal that's been cornered. And when the paramedics began to touch and move his injured leg, any sense of composure he had been maintaining was lost. He cried out pitifully and clutched at the ground with his right hand, his fingers digging into the dirt and clutching the short grass there. He began to move his body slightly, unable to stay still as the waves of pain shot through him, gritting his teeth as small moans escaped him.

Warrick moved back into his sight and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey…hey…stay still, buddy…stay still." He reached out and took Nick's hand that was gripping the ground, and his friend's dirt-covered fingers closed tightly around his own. Warrick looked at the paramedics who nodded to him that they were ready to move Nick now. He looked down at Nick and smiled. "Okay, Nicky…here we go. We're gonna get you out of here now. Just hang in there with us, okay? Hang in there." Nick was looking back up at him with such trust and hope that Warrick had to bite his lip to keep from losing his composure. He took a few deep breaths and squeezed Nick's hand. "All right…it's gonna be all right."

Brass moved back as the paramedics brought the litter up and laid it on the ground next to Nick and then began preparing to get him transferred to it. One of them took Nick's arm…the one with the IV in it…and laid it across his bare chest. "Nick?" He waited until the man's eyes shifted and met his. "We're gonna get you loaded up here, okay? I need you to just stay still and let us do the work, okay?" He looked at Warrick and then at Nick's other hand, still being held by his partner.

Warrick nodded in acknowledgment and placed Nick's other arm across his chest as well, then tried to let go of his hand, but Nick clutched it desperately and would not release it. "I'm not going anywhere, man…it's okay…you can let go. I'm stayin' right here." Nick stared up at him with wide brown eyes, and Warrick assured him again in a soft voice, "I'm stayin' right here." He maintained eye contact with Nick, and a moment later felt the grip on his hand begin to loosen.

Nick had let go of Warrick's hand reluctantly. Unable to move his head with the C-collar around his neck, he was able to see only what was directly above him and what little was within his sight as he shifted his eyes from left to right. Not being able to see the source of the touches on his body again, he did not want to lose the only contact that he had with something of which he was sure. His friend's promise that he would stay close by helped to reassure him, but when he felt others closing in…some of the other search officers coming to help move him…he felt panic overtake him again. "'Warrick…?" he managed to utter, his eyes searching.

"Right here, buddy." Warrick was crouched near his head and leaned over so that Nick could see him. "We're gonna lift you up now, okay?"

Suddenly there were more hands on him than before, underneath him, raising him up. He gasped at the unexpected upward movement, his stomach lurching, and closed his eyes to keep from feeling sick. Although his rescuers moved him slowly and carefully, the motion was too much for him. He let out a miserable moan before he felt himself being lowered again.

"Almost there, kiddo," Brass said as he patted Nick's shoulder.

After he was placed into the litter, Nick could feel the straps being pulled across his body to keep him in place. For a moment it gave him a sense of security, but when he felt them cross his arms, holding them down, he began to struggle.

"It's okay, Nicky…it's okay. It's just us." Warrick covered Nick's hands with one of his own, but the man continued to show signs of distress. Warrick looked at one of the paramedics and asked, "Can we just…do we have to keep his arms down?"

The man sighed. "It's really safer for him that way."

"But they aren't hurt."

"As far as we know." The medic looked at Nick as he fought to get his arms free, then looked back at Warrick. "Well…we'll try it. But we really need to make sure he keeps them still."

The CSI nodded and then turned his attention to Nick, making sure he could see him as he spoke. "Hey…Nick, man…listen. We're gonna get your arms loose, okay? But you gotta promise to keep them still, okay?"

Nick offered up a mumbled agreement and the paramedic undid the strap that was holding his arms in place.

"Okay, buddy," Warrick continued as Nick's arms were crossed over his body again, this time without restraints. "Now you leave them there, okay? Can you do that for us?" Satisfied that Nick's slight nod meant that he understood, Warrick gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Okay, good…good. You just hang on…we're going now."

_Finally…finally._ Nick felt the basket being raised and caught a glimpse of some of the unfamiliar faces on either side of him helping to carry him up the hillside. But closest to him he saw the faces of Brass and Warrick, and he knew he was safe. Still, it was frightening, being held at an angle and moving upward. He closed his eyes. _Almost there._ The men moved slowly and carefully, making their way up and out of the ravine, and yet it seemed like in no time he was horizontal again and they were moving faster, hurrying to get him to the waiting ambulance. It overwhelmed him to think that they had accomplished in a matter of minutes what he had tried so hard to do for days.

He opened his eyes and saw the blue sky unobstructed by trees or brush or concrete overpasses. In his peripheral vision he saw flashes of officers and emergency vehicles, and he could hear the sounds of the people shouting and radios squawking. Everything was blurring together and he had no idea what was going on around him. How many times had he been a part of that chaos while a victim was being evacuated from the scene? Now he was seeing it from the other side, and even though it was more familiar to him than it would be to most victims, it was still a very scary and daunting situation to be in. He would never be able to look at a situation like this the same way again.

When they reached the ambulance, Warrick and Brass stepped back to allow the paramedics to get him into the vehicle. As they did so, Gil Grissom joined them. "How's he doing?"

"Gil," Brass greeted him. "When did you get here?"

"Just as the paramedics were getting down there."

Brass nodded. "Yeah…well…it was…pretty rough. The gunshot wound was a through and through to the side." He shook his head. "I don't know…lot of blood, but…it looked like it hadn't bled in awhile…might be okay."

Grissom nodded. "He's awake?"

"Sort of. He is now, but…he was really out of it…fought us pretty hard 'til he realized what was going on. He's got a lot of cuts and bruises…his leg's definitely broken…ankle was swelled up too." The captain stopped speaking and looked away.

"Okay…well…" Grissom looked at the ambulance and then back at Brass and Warrick who had yet to say anything to him. "The helicopter is waiting south of here…about twenty miles…the closest place they could land. The ambulance will get him there and then they'll get him to Vegas."

"I'm going with him," Warrick said.

Grissom just nodded in response and watched as the CSI walked away.

"All right." Brass sighed and looked at Grissom. "I'll see you in Vegas."

As he was placed into the back of the ambulance, Nick again had the feeling of having been here before but not quite in the same place. To watch as the paramedics tended to victims and took them away…it had become very routine for him. But lying flat on his back, helpless, unable to move, unable to even see clearly what was going on around him, and being completely dependent on others to take care of him…it was almost too much to take, especially on top of the pain from his injuries and the anxiety about what was happening to him.

The motion from being lifted and moved around again made him feel sick. He closed his eyes, praying he wouldn't throw up. When he opened them again he could see the interior of the vehicle…all of the equipment and monitors and shiny chrome. The back doors were still open, and the noises and voices floated in and around him, but nothing stood out clearly in his confused mind. Lights from other emergency vehicles were flashing, reflecting off of the surfaces around him. There was no one with him. _They said they wouldn't leave._ Why wasn't anyone with him? _They said…_ He used his arms to reach out…to feel around, and then to try to get up, all the while his breathing becoming more and more erratic. _Why did…where…?_

"Hey, hey, hey…whoa…" It was one of the paramedics, suddenly appearing next to Nick. He sat on the bench there and took Nick's arms, putting them back down. "Stay still…we're gonna get going now."

Nick settled back down, closing his eyes again against the fresh waves of nausea. After a few seconds he opened them and managed to mumble, "But…" before he closed them again and succumbed to his exhaustion.

Warrick jumped up into the back of the ambulance just before the back doors were slammed shut. He took a seat on the bench across from the paramedic and looked down at Nick. A look of concern crossed his face. "Is he…is he okay?"

"He's just unconscious," the man assured him as he set about checking his patient's vital signs. "Probably for the best for now."

"Yeah," Warrick reluctantly agreed. He looked back down at his friend as the vehicle began to move.

"_We'll be home soon, Nicky."_

_His mother's cool hand brushed against his face as he lay across the backseat of the car with his head in her lap._

"_It's not fair," he whined softly but not so quietly that his father couldn't hear him._

"_Hush," the man said from the front of the car as he drove in the darkness. "Your mama was nice enough to take you to the movie. It's not her fault you got sick."_

"_But…" Nick started to protest but was quickly stopped by his mother's soft fingers against his lips. He looked up to see her shaking her head slightly at him, and he understood._

"_He'll be all right," she said, stroking his hair._

_The truth was that in a way it was her fault that he was sick. But she hadn't been able to resist how excited he was as they entered the theater…his first "night out" and seeing a movie that wasn't a matinee. It was his reward, seeing Disney's "The Cat from Outer Space" at an evening show with just his mother and none of his siblings around. His father had dropped them off but had to come back earlier than expected to pick them up as Nick had gotten ill. He hadn't wanted to leave without seeing the whole movie. The night out was a special treat because he had won first place in the second grade Junior Science Fair with his diorama of a forest, complete with little animals and birds. But partway through the film he had thrown up…twice…in the restroom and his mother had called his father to come and get them._

_So yes, in a way it was her fault. Too much soda and candy plus a very excited little boy equaled getting sick and leaving early. Normally she kept the children on a hearty but healthy diet, making sure they spent time outdoors and being active. But now and then, at times like these, she was known to give in when sweet, happy brown eyes begged her to indulge them._

"_I'm sorry, Mom," he mumbled as he snuggled closer against her lap._

_She continued to stroke his hair and put an arm across him to hold him tightly. "What are you sorry for, sweetie?" she asked quietly._

_Eyes closed, he yawned widely and then said, "I'm sorry you didn't get to see the end of the movie."_

_She smiled to herself. "It's okay, Nicky…it's okay."_

"It's okay," Nick breathed softly.

Warrick eyed the paramedic and then looked down at Nick whose eyelids were fluttering. "Yeah. Yeah…it's okay, Nicky…it's okay. You awake, buddy?"

Nick opened his eyes and saw Warrick leaning over him. The ambulance was moving, and so was Nick, swaying slightly as the driver navigated the curves of the desert highway fast as he dared, the siren screaming. He swallowed hard, shaking, and whispered, "Yeah."

* * *

**Apologies for the time it took to get this published! I was working on a fic for a challenge ("Ordinary Hero"...published today...check it out!) and that caused a little delay, but I hope you like this chapter. :-) Thanks again so much for taking the time to read and especially review! I really appreciate it!**


	15. Chapter 15

_Nick opened his eyes and saw Warrick leaning over him. The ambulance was moving, and so was Nick, swaying slightly as the driver navigated the curves of the desert highway fast as he dared, the siren screaming. He swallowed hard, shaking, and whispered, "Yeah."_

As the ambulance pulled away and he watched Jim Brass get into his car and head for Vegas, Gil Grissom sighed and leaned against his SUV, rubbing his eyes with his hand. When news had come that they had found Nick, he had called the lab immediately. He had meant no disrespect to Lab Director Conrad Ecklie, but it had just seemed natural to call Catherine first. He was not looking forward to the fallout from that decision. Ecklie thrived on being the public face of the lab, and missing the opportunity to break the news of the CSI's rescue to the press would not please him. But Catherine had accepted Grissom's call, and after letting him know that she would meet him at the hospital, she had called Sheriff Atwater to give him the news.

Grissom could handle Ecklie and his temper tantrums, however. What was really bothering him had nothing to do with the man or the sheriff or the press. When he had arrived at the scene and saw the rescue in progress, he told himself that it would be best if he waited on the overpass for them to come up. There were a lot of people down in the ravine, Nick had two paramedics tending to him, and Warrick and Brass were there to keep him calm. There was no need for him to add to what he viewed as a chaotic rescue scene. He would only be in the way. He would wait and help when they arrived at the top.

But when they got Nick up to the road they had moved so fast to move him to the ambulance that Grissom hadn't had a chance to get close enough to see the CSI or what condition he was in. They had rushed past him toward the ambulance and he was left to question Warrick and Brass about the his condition. Except that Warrick hadn't answered him…hadn't addressed him…hadn't even looked at him. Brass had said that Nick had several injuries, and Grissom thought he shouldn't get in the way while they worked on him then. And the captain had said that Nick was pretty out of it, so Grissom decided that Nick wouldn't know if he was there or not anyway. It was better to just stay out of the way and catch up with him at the hospital.

Grissom took one last look around the area. Most of the officers were gone or leaving. A few stayed behind to keep the scene secured until they were sure they would need no more evidence. The supervisor sighed and got into his car.

* * *

Nick had remained awake for the majority of the ambulance ride, but he was quiet and kept his eyes closed most of the time. Although the paramedic assured Warrick that his friend was doing okay, the CSI felt the need to reassure himself by trying to talk to Nick occasionally. Sometimes there was a response, but for the most part Nick seemed to be becoming less and less aware of what was happening around him. However when the vehicle finally pulled up and stopped where the helicopter was waiting to take him to Vegas, he opened his eyes and looked up at Warrick questioningly.

"Hey, buddy…we're gonna get on the helicopter now and get on back home. That cool with you?"

Nick nodded as best he could but then jumped a little when the back doors suddenly flew open. He closed his eyes again as he was taken out of the ambulance and carried quickly to the waiting helicopter with Warrick following closely behind.

The paramedic who had been riding in the back of the ambulance with Nick stayed with him, climbing into the helicopter after he was loaded in. Another medic was on board and was briefed on Nick's condition. The two men set about taking care of him as the pilot prepared to lift off.

Warrick was the last one to jump in. In the cramped space he was not able to get very close to Nick. The medics were taking up most of the space near him. But that was fine with Warrick. He wanted his friend to get all of the immediate medical help he could before reaching the hospital. And from the looks of Nick, he didn't mind either. Somewhere between the ambulance and the helicopter he had lost consciousness again. Although the paramedic had told Warrick earlier that it was okay, as the helicopter lifted off he again asked.

Neither man looked toward him as they continued to attend to their patient, but the medic from the helicopter told him that Nick's blood pressure was low and dropping. The first paramedic added, "He's going into shock. That gunshot wound doesn't look too bad, but it's possible that the bullet did some damage inside before exiting. He could be bleeding internally there. Plus the exposure to the elements, the dehydration…" After affixing an oxygen mask to Nick's face, he sat back and sighed, looking at Warrick. "It might be too…it's just a lot to deal with."

Warrick nodded silently and looked at Nick's pale, lifeless face. _Come on, Nicky._ He then turned away, looking out the window at the ground rapidly passing by far below, long shadows stretching from the setting sun.

* * *

Desert Palm Hospital was always a busy place, but even more so this evening. The capture of the two fugitives had been big news, but the story wasn't finished yet. The press milled about outside with their cameras and lights and microphones trying to get any information they could about the rescued hostage. An emotional human story that ended well was the perfect cap to the entire prison break story and just what they needed to sell their papers and increase their TV ratings. They had been promised a news conference by the sheriff as soon as there was something to report, but they weren't satisfied having to wait and they insisted upon questioning people entering the emergency entrances, some even trying to gain access themselves.

Catherine sat in a secluded section of the emergency room waiting area, her fingers tapping nervously on her knee. Earlier she had flipped absentmindedly through all of the magazines on the tables in the room and then tossed them aside. She wondered why they were there. In this of all places, she knew that people waiting for news of their loved ones would not be able to be calmed or distracted by the latest issue of People or Sports Illustrated. But she supposed it was expected décor for a waiting room. She looked at the watch on her wrist and found that six minutes had passed since the last time she looked, which had been eight minutes past the previous time.

"Here you go."

She looked up to find Sara Sidle standing in front of her holding out a cup of coffee. She accepted it with thanks, even though she had no intention of drinking it. She was nervous enough already. A hearty dose of caffeine was not the remedy for her state of mind. She wisely set the cup on the table next to her before her trembling hands made a mess of it.

Sara sat down in the chair next to her, sipping her own cup of coffee. Unlike her colleague, the hot beverage served to soothe her nerves. "So…Grissom didn't say anything about his condition when they found him?"

"Of course not. Are you kidding?" Catherine gave her an astonished look. "Since when has Grissom ever been a fountain of information?"

Sara raised her eyebrows.

"Okay…okay…yeah, you're right. He's a fountain of _scientific_ information. But _human_ information? Emotional?" Catherine shook her head. "Hell, he's like a robot. All he said was that they found him, they were getting him out, and they'd meet us here."

"No indication at all? You got no feeling from him about it?"

"Nope. No feeling. Not a bit. Nothing. The man's a closed book." Catherine crossed her legs and began to shake her foot nervously. "You know what gets me though? I _know_ he's got feelings. I _know_ he cares about things…about people."

Sara pursed her lips. "I'm not so sure about that."

"He does. He just doesn't know how to show it. Never learned, I guess." Catherine sighed and looked around the room. "Where the hell are they? How long does it take a helicopter to get here anyway?"

"I have no idea." Sara stood up and tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash, then looked at the other cup, still full and sitting on the table. "You gonna drink that?"

Catherine shook her head.

"Good." Sara picked up the cup and sat back down with it, sipping on it loudly.

The two women sat in silence for several minutes before the quiet was broken by Conrad Ecklie who leaned in through the doorway and announced, "They're here."

* * *

A small group of hospital staff were standing by on the roof waiting for the helicopter to arrive, and as soon as it touched down they ran to it. Nick, still strapped into the litter, was quickly placed on a stretcher. The team surrounded him and rushed him toward the elevator. Warrick hopped out of the helicopter and followed closely behind.

When the elevator door opened on the emergency room floor, the hospital team was met immediately by a crowd of people. Other doctors were standing by and ran alongside as the patient was pushed to a trauma room. Police officers and other officials had also been waiting there, among them Catherine and Sara who both tried their best to get close to Nick but were unable to catch more than a fleeting glimpse as he was whisked away. They stood side by side, watching as the doors to the trauma room swung shut.

"Hey, guys," said a tired voice from behind them. The women turned around to find a very worn out looking Warrick standing near the elevator. Catherine was the first to approach him, arms outstretched. He gave her a quick hug and then gave one to Sara as well.

"How is he?" asked Catherine.

Warrick looked wearily toward the trauma room door and at the people still milling around the area. He let out a deep breath. "Is there a place where we could sit down…get away from all this?"

"Sure…sure." Catherine gave him a concerned look, hoping he didn't have something awful to tell them. "Right over here. No one will bother us in here, but they'll know where to find us." She led the way to the room where she and Sara had spent so much time waiting for them to arrive.

Warrick sank down into the cushions of a couch, leaning back and sighed, closing his eyes. He relished in the sensation of just sitting still for a moment. Even though he could still hear the noises from the hospital hallway and the calls over the loudspeaker, they were distant and he was able to block them out. He could feel himself getting too comfortable, and opened his eyes before he got any closer to dozing off.

"So? Come on." Catherine looked at him anxiously as she sat down in a chair near the couch.

Sara sat down next to her and leaned forward in her chair. "How is he?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. When we got to him, he was really out of it. He calmed down some, but on the way here he kind of…he was unconscious then and…" He sighed again. "His blood pressure was low and he wasn't breathing too good."

The two women looked at each other and then Sara cleared her throat and asked, "What kinds of injuries does he have?"

"Gunshot in the side…through and through. Broken leg. Lotta cuts and bruises." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

Catherine looked toward the doorway and then back at him. "You need to get some rest."

He swiped his hands across his face and looked at her with tired eyes. "Nope. Not 'til I see this through."

* * *

The interior of the ambulance had been well lit, but it was nothing compared to the light that was now assaulting Nick's eyes. It was enough to reach through his eyelids and break into his foggy head, bringing him almost to full consciousness. The jostling as the trauma team rushed him into the room also caused him to stir, and when they unstrapped him from the litter and moved him to the examination table, he moaned and opened his eyes but quickly closed them again as the bright lights overhead bore down on him. These people were louder than his rescuers had been, shouting all around him, causing him to cringe. He felt hands on him…sharp stings in various places…something cold on his chest. They were saying something about his leg, and the next thing he knew he was crying out, trying to get away from the pain there.

Dr. Ed Crozier, the head of the Trauma Unit at Desert Palm Hospital, had quickly taken charge of the scene as Nick was brought into the room. He watched as members of his team got to work, attaching EKG wires to his chest to monitor his heart rate, administering more fluids via his IV, and cutting away the rest of his jeans. When the patient began to show signs of distress as his broken leg was being examined, he addressed him. "Nick? Nick, can you hear me?" He turned to one of the nurses and said, "Let's get this off of him." They removed the C-collar and then Crozier pried one of Nick's eyes open and shined a penlight in it.

Nick moaned again and tried to move his head away. _What the fuck?_ It seemed like there were a hundred people in the room, each of them doing something to him, most of it painful. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach again, but this time his body was not just threatening. He began to cough and tried his best to turn to the side, aided by a nurse. His stomach clenched and spasmed, and he retched violently several times, but there was nothing inside of him to come out. He had not eaten in days, and therefore all that was produced was a sickly mixture of yellowish fluids. He coughed some more and then gagged as his stomach threatened again. The nurse held her hand against the back of his neck until he was finished, then helped him lay his head back down and used a cool, wet cloth to wipe the sweat from his face.

* * *

"You talk to Grissom?"

Catherine nodded to answer Warrick's question as Sara paced back and forth between them. "He called as soon as you all found him."

"Yeah," Warrick huffed. "We 'all' didn't find him. I did. And then Brass…man, he just about broke his neck getting down that hill to get to him. But Grissom…" He hung his head and shook it before looking back up at her. "Hell, I don't even know when he got there. Sometime while we were down there with Nick, but…he stayed up top. Just watched."

Sara and Catherine glanced at each other, knowing Warrick couldn't have known about their earlier conversation but finding it interesting how it fit with what they had been discussing. Despite her own misgivings about how Grissom had been handling this case, Catherine felt the need to defend him somewhat. "Well…he probably didn't want to get in the way. I'm sure he knew you and Brass had things under control."

"Are you kidding me, Catherine?" Warrick gave her an incredulous look. "You know damn well if any of the rest of us had come up and there had been an _army_ of people down there helpin' him…" He shook his head. "_Nothin'_ would have kept us from going to him."

"Maybe he…" Sara started to add her thoughts to the mix but was interrupted as a tall, grey haired man wearing scrubs came into the room.

"Excuse me. The officer in the hallway said you all are here for Nick Stokes."

Warrick and Catherine jumped up from their seats and stood next to Sara as she answered, "Yes…we work with him at the Crime Lab. How is he?"

"I'm Dr. Crozier. Let's…let's sit down and talk, okay?"

Catherine gave Warrick a worried look, and he put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly before they sat down to hear what the doctor had to say.

Crozier sat across from the three CSIs and leaned forward as he spoke. "First of all, let me just say that I think he's going to be fine." Although none of them responded verbally, the doctor could see the immediate relief on their faces. "But I'm afraid it's going to take a bit of time."

"How bad off is he?" asked Warrick.

"I'd say he was extremely lucky, despite the circumstances. The bullet doesn't appear to have done any major damage, and the wounds apparently clotted quickly. Unfortunately, he's developed an infection at the site. We've getting him on rounds of antibiotics for that, but right now it's causing a very high fever."

The others all nodded, but waited for more information, so the doctor continued, "His blood pressure got dangerously low while we were examining him, and he wasn't breathing well, so we've put him on a respirator." Seeing their worried expressions, he added, "It's just until he gets some strength back. He was without food and water for…how many days?"

"Almost four," answered Warrick. "And he was…outside…without shelter…for three."

"It shows," said Crozier. "Some of his exposed skin is sunburned pretty badly, and he has a lot of insect bites. He's severely dehydrated as well."

"Warrick said his leg was broken…" Sara's hands twisted nervously.

"Yes, both bones in his lower left leg are broken, but they're clean breaks. The bones didn't shatter or break the skin. He's going to need surgery to repair them, but that will have to wait until he's stronger as well. He has a Grade 3 sprain of that ankle as well…the ligaments are completely torn."

"And you think he'll be fine?" asked Warrick skeptically.

"Look, I know this sounds like a lot, and I'm not going to lie to you. It's a very serious situation and it's going to take some time, but given all that he's been through and the fact that he's survived it until now…I think he's going to be fine."

Catherine let out a shaky sigh tinged with some relief and asked, "Can we see him?"

Dr. Crozier stood up. "Yes, but it's going to be a while. We're still getting him cleaned up and treated, and since he's sedated and on the respirator he's going to be in the ICU for now. But you can visit him there for short periods of time. Once we get him settled in there, I'll have someone let you know."

"Thank you, Dr. Crozier," said Sara as she also stood up. "We appreciate it."

"You're very welcome. If there's anything you need…or if you have any questions…please don't hesitate to have someone page me," he answered as he left the room.

Warrick sighed and stood up, but Catherine stayed where she was. She looked up at him. "He's going to be okay. Right?"

"That's what the man said."

"I know…but…he's going to be okay…right?"

Warrick looked at her and then at Sara before looking at the doorway where the doctor had exited. "I hope so," he said quietly.

* * *

**So, so, so, so sorry this took so long! But here it is! I hope you are still out there wanting to read more. I really hope the next chapter won't take so long to put up, but I'm on vacation right now and traveling, so it may be a little while. In the meantime, I hope this one is enjoyable. I really, really do appreciate everyone who reads/reviews! You make it worthwhile! Thank you!**


	16. Chapter 16

_Warrick sighed and stood up, but Catherine stayed where she was. She looked up at him. "He's going to be okay. Right?"_

"_That's what the man said."_

"_I know…but…he's going to be okay…right?" _

_Warrick looked at her and then at Sara before looking at the doorway where the doctor had exited. "I hope so," he said quietly._

Catherine and Sara looked at each other as the rumbling sound grew louder than before. Despite the circumstances, Catherine managed a small, amused grin and Sara put her hand to her mouth to try to cover her snicker.

The sound was coming from their co-worker. Warrick's long, lanky frame was crammed into the few feet of space that the small, two-seat couch in the hospital waiting room provided. One leg was jammed up against an armrest while the other hung over it. For the most part, he had been quiet since lying down just to "rest his eyes". But after sleep quickly overtook him, he began to produce intermittent, loud snorting noises, especially when he tried to shift positions.

He looked so pitifully uncomfortable that the two women had considered waking him at one point so that he could find a better place to rest. But they knew he desperately needed the sleep, so they did not disturb him. It had been about two hours since the doctor had left them, and they had since moved upstairs to the Intensive Care Unit waiting room. The longer they waited, the more worried they became. It hadn't seemed, from Dr. Crozier's explanation, like it should take this long to get Nick settled in, but no news was good news. At least that's what they kept telling themselves.

The commotion in the hallways had quieted down some, although several LVPD officers still milled about. Sheriff Atwater had given a statement to the press outside the hospital advising them of the rescued CSI's condition, and they had seemed satisfied for now, most of them leaving with their story but knowing they would be back for more. They always wanted more.

Catherine and Sara both looked up suddenly as someone entered the room. But it wasn't a nurse or a doctor. It was Jim Brass. Disappointment was evident on both of their faces.

"Hey," he greeted them as he looked around the room anxiously. "So…what's happening? How's Nick?"

"We're waiting to see…" Catherine was cut off by another loud snort from Warrick as he tried to stretch his leg and got it caught under the armrest.

This time, the commotion was enough to wake him up all the way, and he looked sleepily at the others who were staring at him. When he realize Brass was there, he sat up quickly and wiped his eyes. "Hey, Jim. How long you been here?"

"Just got here," Brass answered. "I saw Gil pull into the garage right behind me. He should be here in a minute." He looked back at Catherine and Sara. "So?"

Catherine sighed. "Let's…just. Let's wait until he gets here so we don't have to say it twice."

The captain saw the weary, pained expression on her face and sympathized. He knew it had been just as difficult on those who had to stay at the lab during the investigation as it had been for the ones who were out in the field. He sat down in a chair next to Sara. "He's gonna be okay though, right?"

Before anyone could answer him, Grissom entered the room. The others greeted him, and he sat down on the sofa next to Warrick to hear what they had to say about Nick's condition.

Sara gave them a brief rundown of what the doctor had said. None of it was really news to Brass, as he had seen Nick's injuries up close and personal, but even so the fact that he had seemed to deteriorate even further on the way to and after reaching the hospital was sobering news. Grissom had some idea of Nick's condition from talking to Brass at the rescue site, but he also was dismayed at the discouraging update.

Catherine stood up and began to pace around the room. "I wonder what's taking so long."

"How long has it been?" asked Brass.

"Couple of hours." Warrick settled back into the couch and yawned.

Sara looked anxiously toward the desk by the entrance to the ICU. It was staffed by one, large gray-haired woman. In the time they had been waiting, several nurses and doctors had come out of the door and spoken to her. She had allowed a few people who were waiting in the room to go back and visit their loved ones, but so far she had yet to address the group of criminalists. "Should we ask her?"

Warrick glanced at the woman and then gave Sara a wary look. "Go for it. I ain't gonna push her." He had witnessed firsthand what happened when waiting friends and relatives tried to get past the woman, and he was not about to subject himself to her wrath.

"She's just doing her job, Warrick," said Catherine, and then she looked at Sara. "But…maybe it wouldn't hurt if you…"

"Okay…okay." Sara stood up and started to cross the room before she stopped halfway, halted by the woman's stare as she lifted her eyes up from the desk. But Sara wasnot intimidated by the look, and she moved forward. "Excuse me…we were wondering…"

"If I haven't called for you, then you can't go back," the woman said gruffly.

"Um…" Sara glanced back at the others who were looking at her expectantly. She turned to the woman again who had gone back to eyeing the paperwork on her desk. "We were just wondering…"

"Two at a time. For ten minutes. Every two hours on the hour."

"Yeah…I know…but…" Sara looked at the nameplate on the desk. "Nancy…we just wondered what's taking so long."

"Who are you here for?" the receptionist asked impatiently.

"Nick Stokes."

The woman looked up, and both her face and her eyes had softened considerably. "Oh." She was used to having to direct people through the ICU to see grandparents on their deathbeds, terminally ill patients at the last stage of life, and those who had been in accidents, injuries too severe to be taken care of in the hospital's general ward. None of them wanted to be here or meant to be here, but what she really hated was to see victims of violent crimes end up here. These people, she knew, had already suffered too much even before they came, and it only continued here. She knew who Nick Stokes was. Everyone in Las Vegas did by now. Even the casinos were not completely free of the news broadcasts.

The woman's sudden change in demeanor worried Sara, and she quickly asked, "What? Is something wrong? What is it?"

Nancy shook her head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…it's just…" She sighed and lowered her voice, mindful of the others in the waiting room. "I saw it on the news. So awful. I'm so sorry for him…for you. But…we're going to take good care of him here. We are."

Sara felt her eyes welling up at the woman's concern for her friend. She cleared her throat and thanked her, then added, "We were wondering what's taking so long. Is everything okay?"

"Let me see." The woman entered something into her computer and scanned the screen. "Oh yes…well…it looks like they did an MRI and also put a temporary cast on his leg and ankle before bringing him up, but they've got him back there now. They're just getting him settled in and briefing his assigned nurses. It shouldn't be too much longer." She smiled up at Sara.

The CSI raised her eyebrows and wondered why the woman couldn't have been nice the whole time but chalked it up to the seriousness of the job day to day, something she was definitely familiar with. "Okay…thanks." She smiled back at the woman.

"What's your name?"

"Sara."

"Sara. I'll call you over as soon as I hear anything," Nancy told her.

The CSI thanked her again and went back to the group that was waiting for her.

"Well?" asked Warrick.

"They're almost ready." Sara remained standing, her arms folded in front of her as she swayed a little from side to side, betraying some of the nervousness that remained despite the receptionist's assurance. "I guess they had to do a few more things before they brought him up, but…" She turned her head to look back toward the desk and the door before looking back at her friends. "She said he's back there now…shouldn't be too long."

The group continued to wait anxiously for another twenty minutes until they heard Sara's name being called. But before she could respond, Nancy surprised them by getting up from her desk and approaching them.

The woman spoke quietly so that others in the waiting area could not hear her as she told them they could go back now. "It's off the hour," she said, "but we'll let you see him for a few minutes. After that we'll need to stay on schedule though." Everyone nodded in agreement, and she continued but not before looking around the room to make sure no one else was listening. "Okay…I got five of you here. I'm gonna let three of you in first for a few minutes, then two. It's against policy, but…it's late…you won't be able to go in again until morning…and…well…I understand. It's a special case. Just…no more than ten minutes, okay?"

"Thank you, Nancy." Sara smiled at her and the woman returned to her desk. "So…" she addressed the others. "How are we going to do this?"

Before anyone else could answer, Grissom spoke up as he looked at Catherine and Brass. "Why don't you two go in with Sara? Warrick and I will go next."

Everyone looked at each other and then back at the supervisor. Warrick was next to him on the couch giving him a wary look. Catherine nodded and stood up, as did Brass, and along with Sara they headed toward the entrance to the ICU.

After watching them to through the door, Warrick asked Grissom, "So? What's up?"

Grissom replied, "I think you and I need to have a talk."

* * *

The center area of the Intensive Care Unit at Desert Palm Hospital was well lit and full of activity, but somehow strangely quiet. This was where the sickest of the sick were taken care of, and its very purpose automatically commanded quiet and respect. The nurse led Sara, Catherine, and Brass past several curtained off beds and Plexiglas encased rooms until they reached a small room on the right. She left them then, and they looked through the glass to get a look at their friend. For two of them, it was their first time seeing him since the whole nightmare had started. They stared silently for a moment, and then the two women looked at Brass.

The captain recognized the looks they were giving him. They were the same looks he had seen on the officers' faces at the rescue scene, on Warrick's face and, he imagined, the same expression he had worn as well when he saw the injured CSI for the first time. It was anger and sorrow and sadness all at once. And it was disbelief. "I know," he said quietly. "Come on." He put his hand first on Catherine's back and then Sara's, gently guiding them forward into the room.

The room was quiet save for the sound of the ventilator which was emitting a soft, rhythmic whirring noise. The lights were bright here as well. Nick's unconscious, still form was lying on the bed, his dark hair prominent against his pale face and the white pillow. His colleagues approached him slowly, Catherine and Sara taking in his appearance for the first time. A sheet covered his body except for his casted lower left leg. His face was a testimony to what he had endured over the past few days. Several bruises and cuts marred the pallid flesh there. His arms bore witness to the violence as well as they were covered with scratches, his wrists raw and scraped from the handcuffs. Holding back her tears, Catherine reached out and put a hand against his face. The fever from his infection caused him to be covered in a light sheen of sweat, and she softly pushed a stray strand of damp hair from his forehead. There were no chairs in the small space, as visitors rarely were allowed enough time in the ICU to even think about sitting, but Catherine crouched down next to the bed in order to be closer to Nick. She whispered to him as she continued to stroke his face, "Hey, Nicky…it's good to see you."

Sara stood behind Catherine, her hands in her pockets, and watched the other woman. She could not hear the quiet words being offered as comfort to the man who most likely was not aware that they were being spoken, nor did she want to hear. This was Catherine's time, and she did not want to intrude upon it. She watched as after a minute or so, Catherine stood up and held Nick's hand in both of hers for a moment and then reluctantly let go and stepped back.

Catherine shifted her gaze between Sara and Brass, eyes brimming with unshed tears, and shook her head. "He doesn't know we're here…does he?"

Brass put a hand on her upper arm and rubbed it soothingly. "I'm sure he does," he said quietly.

Catherine took a look back at Nick and sighed. "I just…I want him to know he's not alone anymore."

"He knows," said Sara.

"Yeah…he does," Brass agreed. "He was awake when Warrick and I were with him…when we brought him in. He knows he's safe now."

Catherine appeared to remain unsure.

"Come on," said the captain gently. "Our time's up. Let's let Grissom and Warrick see him. We'll come back in the morning. Okay?"

Reluctantly, Catherine nodded and followed him and Sara out of the room, turning back for one more glance at Nick before she left.

* * *

Grissom and Warrick still sat side by side on the couch in the ICU waiting room after the others had gone back to see Nick. They were both leaned back against the cushions, staring directly ahead in front of them. Grissom was the one who had said they needed to talk, yet he felt no need to adjust his position so that he and the other man were face to face while they talked. It was easier this way.

"So? What did you want to talk about?" Warrick asked without much enthusiasm and without looking at his supervisor.

"I think we need to talk about what happened today."

"Why? What happened?"

Grissom sighed. "Come on, Warrick. I know you weren't happy with the way I was conducting the search. You felt like…what? Like I had given up?"

"Hadn't you?" Warrick huffed.

"Of course not. You know that. I told you…I was trying to be realistic about it."

"Yeah…well…" Warrick hesitated. He knew, deep inside, that Grissom had been right about that part…that he was searching with his head, not his heart. It made sense, but it didn't make him feel any better at the time. "What about after we found him? After it wasn't unrealistic anymore to think about finding him alive? What about then?"

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked, knowing full well what the CSI meant but hoping to avoid talking about it.

This time Warrick turned to face him as he spoke bluntly. "Why didn't you come down there? Why didn't you help us with him?"

Grissom looked at him a moment and then lowered his head, averting his eyes. "He didn't need me, Warrick. There were enough people down there already."

Warrick shook his head disbelievingly. "You just don't get it, do you?" When the other man did not answer, he sighed and said, "Maybe _I_ needed you down there. For me. For support. You ever think about that?"

Focusing on his hands in his lap, Grissom replied quietly. "No…I didn't. I'm sorry, Warrick. You know I…you know it's not easy for me to…I'm just not…"

"Yeah, yeah…I get it."

Grissom looked up at him. "You do?"

Warrick laid his head back against the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah…I do. You can't help it. It's who you are."

"Well…yes…but that doesn't mean it's who I want to be."

"No?"

Grissom shook his head. "No."

* * *

"_When's it gonna stop, Mom?"_

"_Soon, Nicky. It's almost over."_

_He nestled closer to her as she sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness with her arms around him, rocking him slowly back and forth. "I don't like it." There was another bright flash and then a loud boom, and he jumped and clutched her tighter. He turned his wide eyes upward. "Can we turn the light on?"_

_She looked down at his frightened face and smiled but shook her head. "No…we don't want to wake your brother," she whispered. She looked at the window where the rain was pounding, looking almost like buckets of water rather than drops as it ran down the panes of glass. "You used to like the storms, Nicky. What happened?"_

"_I don't like giants."_

_She wrinkled her brow and asked, "What?"_

"_Andy Bricker told me that's what it is…the giants…coming here…making that noise."_

"_No, sweetie…that's not it. And there aren't really giants, you know."_

_He looked up at her questioningly. "There aren't?"_

_She shook her head. "No. The noise is coming from the clouds. And it can't hurt you."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_I'm sure," she answered. "And the storm is moving away now, so you can go back to sleep, okay?"_

"_How do you know?"_

"_When the lightning flashes next, count with me, okay?" He nodded, and the next time the room lit up they both counted quietly, "One…two…three…" until there was a faint crash of thunder. "That means the storm is three miles away now. The longer the time between the lightning and the thunder, the farther away the storm is."_

_Nick's face brightened as he momentarily forgot his fear. "That's neat!" he exclaimed._

"_Shhh…your brother," she cautioned and then agreed, "Yes, it is neat, isn't it? Now…do you think you can go back to sleep?"_

_He looked at the window where the rain was now barely pitter-pattering against the glass. He listened, but after a dim flash of lightning he could hear only the faintest rumble of thunder. He looked up at her. "I…I think so."_

"_Okay, sweetie," she smiled. "Come on…lay down."_

_He quickly climbed under the covers and laid his head on the soft pillow. The bed felt warm and secure in the darkness of the room. "You're sure it's over?" he asked quietly._

_His mother pulled the blankets up over him and tucked them in at his sides, putting a gentle hand against his cheek as she whispered, "Yes, Nicky, it's over. You're okay. Just close your eyes and rest now." She gave him a light kiss on the forehead as he snuggled deeper into the bed._

"He looks…I don't know…calm. More like…he knows it's okay now."

Grissom cocked his head a little to the side as he observed the unconscious CSI as he lay in the hospital bed. He wasn't so sure about that, but he had to surmise that whether or not Nick knew he was okay, he must at least be feeling better now…safer…at least compared to before. "I think you're right."

Warrick looked at him, surprised that he hadn't disagreed, supporting his theory with some obscure scientific fact. "Yeah?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah."

"All right, fellas," one of the ICU nurses interrupted them. "Time's up. You can come back tomorrow. Visiting hours start at nine."

They thanked her, and Grissom walked out of the room but turned around when he realized Warrick wasn't with him. He looked back to see the man still standing by the bed, now with his hand on Nick's shoulder. He could hear him saying something, but could not make out the words. After a moment, Warrick turned and came out of the room to join him.

"Come on. Let's go."

* * *

**I have no one to blame but myself for the long delay in getting this chapter ready, and I offer my most sincere apologies! I hope you enjoy it tho! I will work on getting the next one up sooner. In the meantime, drop a review if you would and let me know what you think. :-) I really appreciate hearing your thoughts, and thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

"_All right, fellas," one of the ICU nurses interrupted them. "Time's up. You can come back tomorrow. Visiting hours start at nine."_

_They thanked her, and Grissom walked out of the room but turned around when he realized Warrick wasn't with him. He looked back to see the man still standing by the bed, now with his hand on Nick's shoulder. He could hear him saying something, but could not make out the words. After a moment, Warrick turned and came out of the room to join him._

"_Come on. Let's go."_

_

* * *

_

"Hey, Cath."

Catherine looked up from her magazine to see Warrick approaching her in the ICU waiting area. She yawned and put the magazine aside as he sat down beside her, also yawning. "You too?" She laughed a little.

"Yeah, I guess." He grinned and then stretched his arms over his head, yawning again. "Long night, huh?"

She nodded. "Long week. Especially for you."

He looked toward the receptionist's desk. "Any changes since last night?"

"They thought he seemed stronger this morning." Catherine sighed. "His blood pressure was good and they'd gotten plenty of fluids in him. They thought they'd try to get him off the ventilator soon, but…he's still fighting the infection. His fever's still pretty high. They don't want to chance having his breathing compromised just yet."

Warrick cursed under his breath. "I was hoping they'd have him awake soon."

"Yeah…me too."

"I just…" He leaned forward in the chair and put his head in his hands before looking up again. "I just don't like him being alone in there. He was missing and then…he was all alone and we finally found him and now…well…he's alone again."

Catherine smiled at the concern Warrick was showing for his friend. She reached out and took his hand.

Warrick looked up at her and smiled back as she assured him that everything was going to be okay. He nodded. "Yeah…yeah, I know."

* * *

That afternoon, Gil Grissom sat in a conference room with Jim Brass at the Las Vegas Police Department. Lab Director Conrad Ecklie stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a table. The door opened and Sheriff Rory Atwater came into the room looking rushed and like he could use some sleep.

"Okay…" The sheriff dropped a file onto the table. "Here's where we are." He looked at Ecklie and commanded, "Conrad, have a seat."

The man's mouth turned into an expression close enough to be recognized by Grissom as a sneer but not enough for the sheriff to notice. He pulled out the chair next to the CSI supervisor and sat down.

Atwater planted his hands on the table and leaned over it. "Becker's pleading not guilty. Claims Juarez did all the bad stuff. He wants a trial."

"He thinks Juarez won't testify against him," Grissom said matter of factly.

"And he's probably right," agreed the sheriff. "Juarez wants nothing to do with him. I think he'd rather take the blame…and the punishment…than face Becker in a courtroom."

"Or back in prison. But Becker's going to get more time regardless just for breaking out," Brass said.

Atwater nodded. "Not nearly enough though. On top of his previous sentence he'd still be back on the streets before he's too old to do any more damage."

"What about Walsh?" asked Grissom.

"Pleading guilty to letting them stay there, but claiming he didn't know what was going on…didn't see anything."

"Yeah, right." Brass sighed. "So he's clamming up on Becker too, huh?"

"Sounds like it," said the sheriff.

"All right…all right," Ecklie spoke up for the first time. He looked at his watch. "I've got a press conference at 2:30 and a whole lot of people before that asking questions. So how's Stokes?" He looked pointedly at Grissom.

"Warrick and Catherine were over there this morning. He's still in the ICU…sedated…not breathing on his own yet. They said he…"

"That's all I need," Ecklie interrupted as he stood up and looked at Atwater. "Anything else?"

The sheriff silently shook his head and watched as Ecklie left the room. He turned to the men at the table. "Guess that's it for now. The DA will be in touch with you, I'm sure."

* * *

"Grissom!"

The supervisor stopped walking just outside his office at the lab and turned to see Warrick heading down the hallway toward him.

"How'd it go with the sheriff?" the CSI asked.

"Not so good. Becker is claiming innocence, Juarez won't give him up, and Walsh is looking out for himself."

Warrick wiped a hand over his face. "Jesus…this is a mess."

Grissom nodded. "You know…they'll all get time though."

"Yeah, but…"

"Not enough," the supervisor finished his sentence.

"Right." Warrick followed Grissom as he went into his office. "Hey, I'm heading back over to the hospital to see Nick. Wanna come?"

Grissom was bending over behind his desk but stopped what he was doing and looked up at Warrick as he asked the question. After a moment he finished locking up the desk drawer and stood up straight. "No. No, I…it's getting late." He picked up the jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. "I've got something I need to do…I…have an appointment."

Warrick's face betrayed his disappointment. After their talk the night before, he had thought maybe things were going to change with the detached supervisor. But it didn't look that way. He fixed him with a hard stare. "Yeah…yeah, okay. I'll see you later." He turned around and walked away.

Grissom stared after him as he left and opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again. He sighed and slung his jacket over his shoulder, then left as well.

* * *

"How much longer did they say?" Sara asked.

Catherine and Warrick were sitting with her in the sixth floor waiting room of the hospital. It wasn't much different from the ICU waiting area, except that it had no Nancy guarding it. The coffee was a little better too, but the main difference was that the worry here was slightly less palpable than in the other room. They were waiting for Nick to be brought up from the ICU and settled into a regular room. He was not a _lot_ better by any means, but at least he would no longer require around the clock attention and monitoring. This was good news, and his co-workers were anxious to see him and talk to him.

Warrick checked his watch before answering Sara. "Maybe an hour? The last nurse that came in said he was doin' pretty good, but they're taking it slow."

Nick's body was still fighting the infection from his gunshot wound, but otherwise it had regained strength quicker than the doctors had expected. The health risks of keeping him on the ventilator for longer than absolutely necessary combined with the fact that his vital signs were getting stronger had prompted the decision to go ahead and wean him off of sedation and the ventilator this evening so that he could breathe on his own.

"You talk to his folks?" Warrick asked Catherine.

She nodded and took a sip of her coffee before answering. "They still haven't been able to get a flight out. Everything's backed up because of the storms down there."

* * *

"_He has a fever," she whispered to her husband at the door to their son's bedroom._

"_He'll be all right. You go on."_

_She shook her head. "No. I'm going to stay home with him."_

_He stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "The girls can take care of him."_

_She turned her head to look up at him. "I know, but…" She looked back at Nick, her youngest child, still in bed at 9:00 on a school morning. He was lying curled up on his side, eyes closed, but not sleeping. She knew this because she had just been at his bedside moments before, taking his temperature. She took off her coat and handed it to her husband. "Hang this back up for me? On your way out?"_

_He smiled and took the coat, knowing there was no use arguing with her. From behind, he put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you this evening then."_

_After he left, she entered the room and pulled the shades back down, blocking out the bright sun that had been streaming through the windows. _

"_Mom?"_

_She looked down at him and smiled. "I thought you might be able to get some sleep if it was a little darker in here."_

"_Do I hafta stay in bed?"_

"_Yes, sweetie." She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and brushed his dark hair back from his face. "You were up most of the night and you have a fever. You need to rest. And anyway, you don't really feel like getting up, do you?"_

_He sat up for a moment, trying to show her that he was okay, but he couldn't fool her any more than he could fool himself. He looked up at her with brown eyes that were brimming with tears and shook his head. "I guess not."_

"_Lie back down, Nicky."_

_He did as she asked and pulled his dinosaur sheets up to cover himself. _

_She kissed him on the forehead and then stood up. "I'm going to get you some juice, okay? I'll be right back."_

"_Are you staying here today?" he asked._

"_Yes, I am."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes," she said. "I'll be right here, Nicky."_

He was determined that he wouldn't cry, but Nick felt a damn tear roll down his cheek anyway. A nurse noticed and wiped it away.

"It's okay, hon'. We're almost finished."

He was still so confused. He had slowly awakened from a dark, quiet, comfortable sleep to a bright, loud, chaotic scene. He couldn't move. His arms…legs…his whole body felt heavy. But his eyes roamed the area around him and took in the people, none of them familiar to him, but he could hear their assurances that they were going to take care of him. He couldn't speak either. And that appeared to have something to do with why they were there, because they were hovering around the head of his bed, moving things around and touching his face, throat, and chest.

They had asked him a lot of questions, requiring him to blink his eyes on command as well as to look in different directions as they asked him to do so. They seemed pleased that he was alert enough to do so, although he had no idea why. Now they were talking to him again, trying to get his attention when all he wanted was for them to leave him alone.

"Nick? I'm Dr. Crozier. I took care of you when you were brought in to the ER. Do you remember me?"

He looked up at the man who was too close to his face, understanding his words but not recognizing his face. He shook his head a little.

The man smiled. "It's okay. Hey, we're going to get a lot of this stuff off of you, see if we can make you more comfortable, okay?"

That sounded good to him. Nick nodded but looked warily at one particular nurse standing near him. A few moments earlier she had taken something and used it to suction out his mouth and throat. He hadn't liked that at all and now wondered what else she had in store for him. Sure enough, she approached and stood next to the doctor looking down on him.

"Okay, let's get this tube out so you can breathe better." She began pulling away the tape that held the tubing in place, gently so as not to hurt him. "Allrighty, are you ready?"

He was nervous, but Nick nodded slightly.

"Like we talked about, Nick," said Dr. Crozier. "Take a deep breath…"

* * *

"It's been over an hour, Warrick." Sara was pacing back and forth in the waiting room.

"I said _about_ an hour. I don't know what's going on back there. You think I'm a doctor?"

She stood in front of him now as she spoke. "Well, you're the one who talked to the nurse. You'd think…"

Warrick stood up now as well and faced her. "Hey! All she said was it would be _about_ an hour. How the hell am I supposed to…"

"All right, guys…cut it out." Catherine's voice did not rise above a normal speaking level, but it was enough for the other two CSIs to stop what they were doing and sit back down.

"Sorry," Warrick said after a moment.

"Me too," added Sara, sighing. "It's just…when are they gonna be done?"

It was another half an hour before she got her answer as a nurse entered the waiting room and asked who was there for Nick Stokes. The three of them stood up, immediately alert, and followed her down the hallway to room 656. They stopped just outside the darkened room, and the nurse told them they could have just few minutes since it was so late. "I'm sorry. I know you've been waiting a long time. But he's been through a lot today and really needs his rest. You can spend more time tomorrow." They agreed, and she led them into the room.

The nurse went to the bed and dimmed the small light there that was already low. "Nick?"

He mumbled a quiet response.

She smiled at him. "You've got some visitors." She stepped back and let the others move forward, then left the room.

Catherine was the first to approach him, taking his hand and looking, for the first time since he'd been found, into his eyes. "Hi, Nicky." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "Missed you."

Nick lay in the bed, the head of it lifted a bit so that he was not lying completely flat, covered with a sheet and blanket except for his broken leg. He looked much as he had when they had seen him in the ICU, except now he was free of the breathing device and they could see his face better. And of course, now he was awake, although very groggy. He felt Catherine holding his hand but couldn't find the strength to squeeze back. He tried to say something, however, but it came out as an inaudible croak and he grimaced at the pain in his throat.

"It's okay." Sara came closer and stood next to Catherine. "Don't try to talk. We're just glad to see you looking better."

He blinked a few times and nodded slightly. His eyes roamed between the two women and then behind them to settle on Warrick.

The man stepped up as well and greeted his friend. "Hey, buddy…good to see you again. You gave me a pretty big scare there for a while."

Nick tried to say he was sorry, but it came out choked as well and he began to cough painfully.

Alarmed, Warrick put a hand on his shoulder and told him to take it easy. "We should go and let you rest, man. We just wanted to see you and say hi…let you know we're here."

The coughing fit stopped, and Nick looked up at them, his tired eyes fixating on each one for a moment and then focusing somewhere beyond them as though he was looking for something.

Warrick followed his gaze, expecting to see the nurse at the door ready to ask them to leave, but there was no one there. Still, he knew it was time that they leave. "We're gonna get on out of here, man. We'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Nick looked at him and nodded and then watched as they left the room.

_Nick twisted the buttons on his navy blue shirt and then lifted his head and looked down the road. There were no cars coming. He looked back down at his Cub Scout uniform and picked at a scab on his knee just below the hem of his blue shorts, kicking his feet against the concrete wall he was sitting on._

"_Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?" Mrs. McCullen asked him as she shut the car door behind her son, Andy. _

"_Nah," he answered. "I mean… no, thank you, ma'am."_

"_It's no trouble, really."_

_He shook his head. "No…my mom is coming to pick me up." He smiled happily and looked down the road again._

_She looked past him at the scout leader who was standing at the door to the school. He looked back at her and shrugged. "Well, okay, dear…if you're sure. Have a good evening." She went around the car and got in, leaving the youngster to look after her as she drove away._

"_Hey, Nick?" The scout leader came and stood next to him. "Everyone else has gone now. You want to try calling home again?"_

_He looked up at him, smiling. "No…she's coming, Mr. Anderson. She'll be here soon." He leaned over and pulled up his blue and gold socks that had fallen down._

_The man sighed and nodded, looking up the road now himself. Twenty minutes later he was sitting on the wall next to Nick who was looking considerably less happy than he had been earlier. "C'mon, buddy…let's go in and call your mom, okay?" He stood up off of the wall._

_Nick looked up at him with sad eyes, his lower lip trembling. "But…she'll be here any minute."_

"_Well, if she comes while we're inside, she'll wait for us. C'mon…let's give her a call." He waited for the little boy to hop down off of the wall and then let him walk in front of him as they went back into the school. They went into the office and Nick sat in a chair while the scout leader dialed the number. After a few moments, he hung up the phone. "There's no answer."_

"_That's 'cause she's on her way here," Nick said, but not sounding very confident now._

"_It's getting pretty late, buddy. Maybe she forgot?"_

"_She didn't forget!" He was trying hard to keep from crying. "She said she would come."_

"_I know, but…usually your dad picks you up. Maybe there was a mix-up."_

_The little boy shook his head vigorously. "No! She said she would come. She didn't forget me!" He jumped up from the chair and ran out of the office._

"_Nick!" Anderson called after him, but to no avail. He sighed and picked up the phone again. A few moments later he left the office, locking the door behind him. He found Nick standing at the front doors, his hands and face pressed against the glass looking outside. _

"_C'mon, Nick." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm gonna take you home."_

_Nick shook his head and looked up. "She's coming. She won't know where I am."_

_Anderson crouched down so that the two of them were at eye level. "Listen, buddy…looks like there was a little mix-up. I finally got through to your house. Your mom and dad are home now. They each thought the other was picking you up."_

_Nick's mouth turned down and he looked back out the window. "But she said she would be here," he said softly._

"_I know…but I guess she forg…"_

"_She didn't forget!" Nick shook his head, still looking out the window. "She'll be here." His voice was barely audible now._

"_Yeah…well…I think…I think they were busy then, huh?" The man watched as Nick nodded without looking at him. "So…they asked if I could drop you off. Would that be okay?"_

_Nick shrugged._

"_Hey…your mom said she'd have your supper ready when you get home. That's cool, right?"_

_The little boy shrugged again._

"_Okay." Anderson opened the front door. "C'mon…let's go." He held the door as Nick went out, his head down._

"_She didn't forget me," he mumbled again._

His friends long since gone, Nick sighed deeply and closed his eyes against the sight of the empty room._ She didn't forget me…she didn't forget me._

_

* * *

_**Thank you all again for being so patient! Real life is being very rude lately and interrupting my writing time! But I'll say it again...this story not be left unfinished! :-) **

**Just wanted to address one question that a couple of people have asked. Since this story is set around Season 3 and Greg is still in the lab and not really a part of the core CSI team dynamics yet, that's why he's not been a part of the story other than a mention early on as he was running DNA.**

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I really appreciate your reading it and especially reviewing. Please drop a line and let me know what you think. And in return I'll start working on the next chapter. ;-)  
**


	18. Chapter 18

_His friends long since gone, Nick sighed deeply and closed his eyes against the sight of the empty room. She didn't forget me…she didn't forget me._

_

* * *

_

When she came back to visit the next morning, Catherine found Nick awake but looking tired as he lay in the bed that was raised just a bit. A nurse was just leaving the room as she entered. "Hey, Nicky…looks like you're getting good service around here." She smiled as she sat down in the chair closest to his bed.

He blinked his eyes wearily at her a few times before sighing. "I guess. She tried to make me drink some juice, but it made me sick. I puked it back up." He noticed the grimace on Catherine's face. "Sorry." He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together nervously.

"Hey." She reached over and put a hand over his, and when he looked at her she said, "It's okay. You need to take it slow. You've been through a lot."

He quickly turned away, hoping to hide from her the emotion on his face…the tears welling up in his eyes. He leaned back into the pillow, facing away from her, and cleared his throat. "I don't want to take it slow. I want out of here. I want this to be over."

"I know." Catherine squeezed his hand and noted that it was shaking. "It'll get better. And you're not alone now."

Nick nodded, still not looking at her. "That was the worst part," he said softly.

"What?" Catherine leaned closer to hear him better, putting her other hand on his shoulder now and rubbing it soothingly.

"Being out there alone. And the…stupid, fucking dreams…hallucinations…whatever the hell they were."

"I'm sorry…Nick…I…I can't even imagine. I'm so sorry it happened."

He took a deep breath and let it out before turning to look at her, giving her a small smile. "Yeah…well…anyway. It's over…right?"

Catherine cocked her head a little to the side and studied him. She had seen this side of him before, pretending that things were okay when they clearly were not. But she knew that this was not the time to press him on it…that he needed some time to process everything and come to terms with it. "Yeah." She smiled. "Yeah…it is. It's over. You did real good, Nicky. I'm proud of you. I don't know if I could have…"

"Thanks," he cut her off and pulled his hands away from hers, avoiding her eyes. He was quiet for a moment and then tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

"Sleepy?" Catherine asked.

He shook his head. "How can I be? All I've done is sleep."

Despite his protests, Nick looked extremely worn out, and Catherine wondered if his move from the ICU wasn't premature. "Well…" She stood up. "I should let you get some rest, huh? I'm sure Warrick will be by soon. And I'll be back."

"Yeah…okay." He looked at her and then back down again.

"Okay." She smiled and touched his shoulder. "I'll see you later then." She turned and headed for the door but stopped and looked back as he spoke again.

"You, uh…you probably have to go pick up Lindsay…or something…huh?" He was still looking down.

Catherine shook her head as she walked back toward the bed. "No…not for a while." She leaned over to catch his eye. "I can stay longer…if you want."

He looked up at her and nodded slightly.

She smiled at him without saying anything, and came back to sit next to him.

* * *

"Leonard." Jim Brass nodded at the stout, gray-haired man who had just entered his office without knocking. "Have a seat."

District Attorney Leonard Childs sat across the desk from the captain and pulled a large file out of his briefcase, setting it down in front of him. "Have you talked to Stokes yet?"

Brass shook his head. "No. He's just out of Intensive Care and still heavy on the meds. Anything he says right now…the defense would have a field day with."

"When do you think you'll get in there then?"

"Depends. He's supposed to have surgery on his leg as soon as he's able. I'll try to get a statement from him before that." He leaned back in his chair.

"Try hard, Jim," said the D.A. "Right now I've got a lot of evidence that doesn't tell me much."

"Well, you know for a fact that Becker and Juarez broke out and did the kidnapping."

"Yes, but I've got two dead civilians with no one being held accountable. Their families…the press…the public…they're all breathing down my neck wanting some answers. I need to find out what happened. And who did it."

Brass nodded thoughtfully. "I don't know how much help Nick is gonna be. He was there when Paula Davenport was killed, but…we're pretty sure he'd been dumped before they killed Louie Boardman."

"Still…" Childs pushed the file across the desk to Brass and stood up. "Review everything. And talk to him as soon as you can."

Brass took the file and looked up. "I'll do my best. Thanks, Leonard."

* * *

After days of worry and too many flight delays to count, Bill and Jillian Stokes had finally arrived in Las Vegas. They went directly from the airport to Desert Palm Hospital, arriving in the early afternoon. A nurse led the Stokes down the hall toward their son's room. When they reached the open door with the number 656 next to it, the couple paused and the nurse stepped into the room. They had been told that Nick was sleeping, but she wanted to make sure before they went inside, and sure enough he was lying quietly, eyes closed, in the darkened room. She stepped back into the hallway. "He's still sleeping. We gave him a pretty heavy dose of pain medication earlier, so he'll probably be out for a few more hours at least. You're welcome to stay as long as you like though."

Jillian was already heading into the room, so her husband thanked the nurse and then followed her inside. They moved quickly at first, but the sight of their son...finally...after waiting and worrying for days...stopped them in their tracks. They stood together for a moment, arm in arm, taking everything in. Mixed emotions flowed through them. Relief combined with concern, leaving them standing almost as if in a trance until finally Jillian let go of her husband and went to her son's bedside.

She stood looking down at Nick who, by all appearances, seemed to be in a deep sleep. His face was marked with healing scrapes and bruises, but his features looked peaceful…no sign of distress, and for that she was grateful. She sat down in the chair next to his bed, oblivious of her husband coming up to stand behind her. She put her hand on Nick's arm, squeezing it briefly before sliding it down, wincing at the sight of the marks on his wrist before taking his hand in hers.

"_Give me your hand, Nicky."_

_He stood defiantly next to the car, arms crossed, shaking his head._

_His mother sighed and walked over to him. She crouched down so that she could look him in the eye. "What's wrong, sweetie? I thought you wanted to go to the park."_

"_I do."_

_She smiled at him and stood up, holding out her hand. "Well, okay then…let's go."_

_But he again refused to take it and shook his head._

_Frustrated, his mother put her hands on her hips and looked at him. "What's the matter?"_

"_I want to go myself."_

_Her eyes opened wide. "Across the street?" Now she was the one shaking her head. "No sir, mister. You know better than that."_

"_But why?" His big, brown eyes looked up at her, his defiance lessened and replaced with dejection._

"_It's not safe."_

"_But those kids went over by themselves." He pointed to the park and the playground equipment that was covered with laughing children._

_She glanced over to see what he was pointing at and answered, "Those children are older, Nicky. And the little ones have their mothers or fathers with them."_

"_I'm not a little one," he pouted. "I can go by myself."_

"_You can play by yourself, but I'm going to sit nearby and watch you, okay?"_

_He knew by her tone that she meant it, and he reluctantly agreed, but when she put her hand out again he said, "No, you said by myself."_

"_Nicky…" She crouched down again to face him. "You are not crossing the street without me. It's dangerous."_

"_I'm not gonna go when the cars come, Mom."_

"_I know you wouldn't, sweetie." She ruffled his hair. "But the cars might not be as careful as you are."_

_He leaned over to the side to peer behind her. Car after car passed by on the street, creating blurs of colors…blues and reds and whites, blocking his view of the playground. He looked back at her. "Just across the street? Then I can go by myself?"_

"_Yes." She nodded and stood up, turning to face the street._

_Nick jumped as a large truck roared by close to the curb. He moved closer to her, leaning against her leg. "Mom?"_

_She looked down to see him craning his neck looking up at her. "What is it, Nicky?"_

"_Don't cross without me."_

_She laughed a little. "I won't. I'll make sure it's safe." She held out her hand._

_This time he took it and tightened his small fingers around hers as they walked together._

Nick's fingers closed around his mother's. She sat up in the chair, immediately alert. Two hours she had sat next to his bedside while he slept soundly, aided by the medication. She had held his hand the entire time, but he had showed no response to her touch. Now, he was stirring in the bed…and gripping her hand. She turned her head slightly and whispered loudly, "Bill."

Bill Stokes had been sitting in a slightly more comfortable chair across the room and had nodded off more than once while his wife kept vigil over their youngest. But her urgent tone roused him quickly and he went to her side, taking the chair next to her and putting a hand on his son's leg.

_Another fucking dream._ Nick didn't want to open his eyes. It was too much. It wasn't enough that he had to feel vulnerable and helpless throughout this whole ordeal, but even his dreams made him feel that way too. That is, until in each of them his mother or his father would appear and make everything all right again. But that's when the real cruelty of his situation would become clear. He would become lucid again and realize that he was still in a real life nightmare. And alone.

Until now.

His mother was holding his hand in his dream, and as he awoke she didn't let go. Just like she said. She would keep him safe. He grasped her hand and held on tightly as he opened his eyes. And he saw her there, sitting next to his father. His head was turned toward them, the right side of his face pressed against the pillow. He could see tears in his parents' eyes, and he instantly felt regret, for he knew he was the cause of it. But although they looked weary, they did not look sad. He quietly uttered one small word. "Hi."

Jillian stood up but kept her hold on his hand, thinking she might never let go again. She leaned over him and placed a soft kiss against his left cheek. As she bent over him, he reached around her shoulders with his free arm and pulled her closer. She put her arm around him as well and held him in as best an embrace as she could given the circumstances.

But it was good enough for Nick. Overwhelmed by the feeling of security and comfort that her embrace gave him, he allowed the tears to come as he whispered into her ear, telling her that he loved her.

* * *

**I know this one is a bit short, but I hope you like it! Thanks to everyone who is reading and especially reviewing! Please drop a line or two and let me know what you're thinking. I appreciate it!**

**And yes...I realize Ecklie wasn't lab director just quite yet, but I wrote myself into a corner in an earlier chapter by mentioning it, so in the spirit of continuity (which CSI fans love, right? LOL!) I decided to leave it that way. :-)  
**


	19. Chapter 19

_Jillian stood up but kept her hold on his hand, thinking she might never let go again. She leaned over him and placed a soft kiss against his left cheek. As she bent over him, he reached around her shoulders with his free arm and pulled her closer. She put her arm around him as well and held him in as best an embrace as she could given the circumstances._

_But it was good enough for Nick. Overwhelmed by the feeling of security and comfort that her embrace gave him, he allowed the tears to come as he whispered into her ear, telling her that he loved her._

The Stokes stayed by their son's side the rest of the afternoon and early evening. In between periods of Nick sleeping there was conversation that revolved around home and the family...anything except what had happened to him. They knew they would have to talk about it at some point, but for now Nick was relieved to not have to think about it, and his parents were happy just to spend time with him and know that he was safe.

"Hey...hope we're not interrupting," Warrick said as he knocked lightly on the open door to Nick's room. Inside were Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, she sitting in the chair next to Nick and him standing beside her. They turned to look as he and Grissom entered the room.

"No, no...not at all," said Bill. Introductions were made and hands were shaken. "Actually...we were just thinking about leaving to have something to eat and then finding a hotel."

"A hotel?" Warrick looked at Nick who was looking like all of the visitors might be taking a toll on him. "Figured they might stay at your place."

Nick shook his head. "Nah...they would, but...it's still pretty hot out, right?" He had lost track of time and weather since being rescued.

Warrick smiled. "Yeah...yeah, man...it's still hot."

"Yeah, well...they can't stay there then. The damn air conditioner's broken. The guy was gonna...I was supposed to...he was gonna meet me there to fix it the other day, but...you know..." Nick's voice trailed off at the end of the sentence as he tried push out of his mind the memories of why he had not been able to make that appointment.

"We don't mind the heat, dear," his mother said. "If you don't mind us being there."

He shook his head again. "It's too hot, Mom. Really."

"Uh...excuse me." Grissom spoke up. "Nick...if you want them to stay at your place, it's okay. The air conditioning is fixed and it's been running, so the temperature is good in there now."

The rest of the group looked at each other, confused, and Nick asked, "Huh? How?"

Clearly embarrassed now with the attention and all of the eyes on him, Grissom stuttered a little as he answered, "I...uh...well..." He let out a deep breath. "I knew that's why you had asked for that day off...to meet the repair man. And I...I just thought...I thought I'd take care of it for you so you wouldn't have to worry about it when you get out of here."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Grissom," said Bill, causing the lab supervisor to look even more embarrassed.

"You did that?" Nick asked. "How'd you get in?"

"Your…uh…your jacket was in your locker. Keys were in the pocket." Grissom immediately felt bad for saying it. The awkward silence afterward wasn't because he had taken Nick's keys to get into his house. It was because it reminded everyone of just _why_ Nick's jacket and keys were still in his locker.

Nick was the first to break the silence. "Thanks, Griss…I appreciate it."

Grissom waved him off with his hand, "It wasn't any trouble."

"Yeah it was. You didn't have to do that."

"Well..." The supervisor cleared his throat and then addressed Nick's parents. "You were leaving. We'll step out and let you say goodbye. It was nice to meet you both."

Warrick said goodbye to the Stokes as well, and then added, "We'll be back in a little bit, Nick." His friend nodded, and then Warrick went out into the hallway where Grissom was already standing.

"Want to go find some coffee?" Grissom asked.

"Grissom…"

"I think I saw a machine down this way." Grissom started down the hallway and turned to look back at the CSI. "Aren't you coming?"

"Grissom…" Warrick walked to catch up to him. As the man started to walk away again, he stopped him. "Hey, come on…wait a minute. What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"You know what I mean. Back there."

"Look…Warrick." Grissom sighed. "It was no big deal. Really. Let's just go get some coffee." He turned and continued down the hallway.

Warrick did not move as he called out after him, "Is that where you were going yesterday? When you wouldn't come to the hospital with me?"

Grissom stopped again and looked back at him.

"That's the 'appointment' you had?"

The supervisor sighed and said simply, "Yes, it was."

The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment before Warrick finally nodded and gave a small smile. "Okay then. Let's go get that coffee."

* * *

Warrick and Grissom returned to Nick's room a bit later to visit with him once his parents had gone. But it wasn't long before Nick began to nod off, and his friends decided it was time to go for the day. After they had left, however, he found it almost impossible to go to sleep. He refused any medication to help him, feeling that the pain medication made him sleepy enough, and finally he was able to drift off.

_"I told you to kill him." Ron Becker stood over Nick at the edge of the creek bed that was now full of rushing water from the rainstorm. _

_Manny Juarez was leaning against a tree, clutching his stomach, blood soaking his shirt and seeping through his fingers. "What the fuck, Ronny? What'd you do that for?" he gasped. Moments earlier Becker had shot him without warning._

_"Like I said...I told you to kill him. Does he look dead to you?"_

_"C'mon, Ron..."_

_"Hey...you..." Becker nudged Nick with his foot. "How come he didn't kill you?"_

_Nick looked up at him with terrified eyes._

"_How come? Huh?"_

"_I…I don't know," Nick answered in a trembling voice and wondering to himself how he could speak with a gag in his mouth, and then realizing that it was gone. His leg and ankle didn't hurt either. Jesus…maybe he already killed me, he thought._

_Becker laughed. "Nah…I ain't killed you. Not yet."_

_Nick looked at him in shock. "What…" Aw, fuck…I'm going crazy, he thought._

"_We're __all__ crazy, man…batshit crazy!" The escaped convict threw his head back and laughed again._

_This guy is nuts, Nick thought. He looked around to see how Manny was doing, but the man was nowhere in sight. "Where…where did Manny go?" He turned back around and found himself staring at the barrel of a gun as Becker crouched close beside him._

"_Manny who?" Becker cocked his head to the side as he looked at Nick. "And you're right. I'm nuts. And you know what else?" He put the gun against the side of Nick's head and leaned in close to whisper into his ear. "We don't need you anymore." The explosive sound of the gun firing mixed with the insane sound of his laughter, creating a maniacal combination that echoed off of the trees, causing birds to scatter wildly. _

Nick jerked upright in the bed as far as he could manage, letting out a strangled scream and then frantically looking around the room, gasping for breath and trying desperately to see in the darkness…to make out anything familiar to him, but there was nothing. He looked around the bed…felt around…trying to ascertain where he was…to find out if what he had just experienced was real or not, but again he found nothing. A sharp pain in his right side brought him quickly back to the reality of his situation, and he grimaced, placing an arm across his middle and bracing himself with the other on the bed.

Suddenly there was a soft light engulfing the room, and a short, heavyset woman with graying hair, wearing purple scrubs was coming toward his bed. "Hey, hey, hey…take it easy there. You're gonna hurt yourself. C'mon…lay down." She put her hands on his shoulders but he pulled away from her. "Nick…it's okay. It's Alma…you're okay."

He stopped pulling away and looked up at her, still unsure. "I…I thought…"

"It's just another dream, hon'…you're okay. Come on now…lay back down." She helped him lay back onto the bed and then adjusted the covers. "There…now I'm gonna get something to help you sleep, okay?"

Nick drew in a shaky breath and nodded as he pulled the blankets up higher.

She smiled at him. "Okay then…you just lie still, hon'. I'll be right back." A few minutes later she returned and injected a sedative into his IV, then patted him on the shoulder. "You just relax and let it work, okay? You're gonna be just fine."

Although he wasn't quite as sure about that as Alma was, Nick nodded and closed his eyes.

* * *

Jim Brass stood in the elevator of Desert Palm Hospital with his hands folded in front of him, staring up at the row of numbers as they lit up, one after the other, making their way up until they reached number six which then held a steady yellow glow as the elevator stopped and the door opened. He stepped off and checked the signs on the wall, then turned to his right and headed down the hallway toward room 656.

He had not been to visit Nick since the first night when he saw him in the Intensive Care Unit. That had been two days ago. Although yesterday was the first full day that Nick was actually awake and aware, Brass had had his hands full all day with paperwork and meetings, most of them about this case. And he knew that Nick had not lacked for company. So he felt that it was better to wait until today to visit. And besides that, he had a job to do. The district attorney had made it clear to him that he needed to get Nick's statement about what happened as soon as possible. Brass had found out that surgery was planned on Nick's broken leg in the next day or two, so he knew today might be his only chance to have this conversation with the CSI.

It was mid-morning, and the last thing the captain expected to see when he looked into the room was darkness. But the shade was pulled down on the window and none of the lights were on. Only the light from the hallway and the flickering from a small television mounted high on the wall lit up the room. In the sparse light, Brass could make out Nick lying in the bed asleep, the blankets in disarray all around him except for his exposed, casted leg. Next to Nick, Warrick sat in a chair, his head leaning on his shoulder as he also slept, his long legs extended with both feet propped up on the end of the bed. Brass quietly walked to the television and turned it off.

"Huh?" Warrick mumbled as he sleepily lifted his head. Then he suddenly sat up straight and alert, feet on the floor, looking around the room. "What? Who won?"

Brass couldn't help but chuckle at the confused man. "Sorry, Rick. Game's over."

Warrick looked at him and then around the room again, realizing where he was, and ran his hand over his face. "Aw, man…" He yawned and stretched both his arms and his legs at the same time. "Musta fallen asleep."

"Pretty early still for both of you to be asleep, isn't it?"

"I came here right after my shift." Warrick looked at Nick who was still sleeping. "And I don't think he got much sleep last night."

"I heard his folks finally made it here." Brass pulled another chair over and sat next to Warrick.

"Yeah, they were here. They're staying at Nick's place."

"I heard about that too. Grissom's full of surprises, huh?" The older man laughed.

Warrick started to respond but stopped when he noticed Nick stirring in the bed. "Maybe we ought to go somewhere else," he whispered to Brass as he got up from the chair. But he stopped as he heard Nick behind him.

"It's okay," Nick said sleepily as he let out a deep sigh and turned to face them. "I'm awake."

Warrick looked back at him and Brass stood up and moved closer as well. "You sure, Nick?" asked the captain. "I can come back later."

Nick shook his head and pushed himself up a little in the bed. "No…it's okay. Stay. I sleep too much here anyway."

Brass smiled at him. "You need it. You earned it."

Ignoring the comment, Nick looked at the window and said, "You can open that up some if you want."

Warrick went to the window and lifted the shade up to let some light into the room as Brass sat down in the chair Warrick had previously occupied so that he was closer to Nick. The captain cocked his head a little to the side, smiling, and said, "You're looking better than the last time I saw you."

Nick nodded hesitantly. "Yeah…yeah, I guess so." He looked at the man and then at Warrick who had sat down in the other chair, then back at Brass. He was trying to keep himself together, blinking back tears, but his lips trembled. "Jim…"

Brass nodded. "It's okay. I know."

But Nick shook his head. "No…I…you…" He looked at Warrick then too. "You guys…you found me. You saved me."

"It was all of us. Everybody, Nick," said Brass. "Everybody helped."

"But…there…at the end…if you hadn't…if you guys weren't there, I…" He shook his head again as his voice trailed off and he turned his head, wiping his eyes with his arm.

"Hey…hey…that was all you, Nicky. All you." Brass reached out and patted his shoulder. "You hung in there for us. I don't know how you did it, but…I'm really proud of you."

Nick sniffed a little and turned back to face the two men. "No…I…anyway…thank you…for being there."

A moment of silence ensued until Brass picked up the briefcase he had brought with him. "Well…uh…Nick…I hate to get down to business, but…"

"You want to know what happened."

Brass stopped rifling through the briefcase and looked at him. "Yeah. Yeah…I'm sorry, Nick. I hate to do this to you now, but…"

"It's okay. Let's just…get it over with."

As Brass got out a small notebook, a file folder, and a voice recorder, Warrick stood up and asked, "You want me to, uh…?" as he indicated toward the door.

Nick shrugged. "I don't care if you stay. Jim?"

"Either way…it's okay with me."

"In that case…" Warrick had tried not to show it, but he definitely wanted to stay and hear what his friend had to say. Still, he didn't want to interfere in the process, so he grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and moved it back a few feet so that Nick and Brass could have some privacy if they needed it.

"Okay then…so…" Brass looked at Nick. "You know the drill. I'm gonna look through the file here and ask you some questions." He set the voice recorder on the tray table next to the bed. "And I'm gonna record everything…probably make a few notes here too while we talk. Okay?"

Nick nodded.

"All right…let's get started." Brass turned on the voice recorder and stated the date and time as well as the purpose for the recording. After that, he said to Nick, "Before we get into specifics, can you tell me…from your time with them…were you able to get any idea of whether or not Becker had this all planned out? Or if it was just an opportunity that he saw and took?"

Nick closed his eyes and tried to think back. He had to admit that throughout his ordeal his thoughts hadn't been focused on solving a crime or being concerned with anything Becker might have planned before taking him. His primary concern was his own situation and how he was going to get out of it alive. But…he had been aware of the things Becker and Juarez had said as well as most of their actions. He opened his eyes and looked at Brass. "I don't think he planned it. I don't know about killing the guard, but…escaping?" He shook his head. "They didn't seem very organized when we left."

"How so?"

"Like…" Nick sighed. "Like they headed north…and Becker said to turn into Indian Springs…Manny was driving. But then they were just driving around looking for a car to steal. They didn't have anything planned for getting one."

Brass nodded thoughtfully and wrote a few things in the small notebook before looking back at Nick. "Okay…good. Anything else lead you to think they didn't plan it?"

"When we were at the trailer. That guy…I think his name was Cody? I didn't hear his last name. But…he didn't seem like he was expecting them. Becker had to talk him into letting them stay there."

"Yeah?" Brass noted that in his notebook, thinking that it was interesting. It backed up Walsh's story that he hadn't had anything to do with it other than letting them stay there, but it didn't excuse him from notifying the authorities after they left.

"Yeah. He didn't seem very happy about it. But Becker…" Nick eyes turned down for a moment as he spoke. "He was pretty…intimidating."

The captain didn't say anything, but he knew Nick wasn't just talking about Walsh when he said Becker was intimidating. He waited and let the CSI speak again when he was ready.

"Anyway…um…I don't think Becker planned to escape. But after he was out…I think he knew what he was doing."

"How do you mean?"

"Staying the night there," Nick said. "And changing clothes…changing vehicles again. He seemed to know where he was going when we left the trailer. But…you know…they didn't take me all the way. I'm not sure…I really don't know how far we went before they…before they went on without me."

Warrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but tried to stay unnoticed. He didn't want to interrupt the conversation. Nick seemed comfortable talking to Brass right now, and it was imperative that they get as much information as they could from him. But Warrick was getting upset already. He knew Nick had been through a horrific ordeal. But watching him go through it again…listening to him as he relived it…Warrick had thought he'd put his anger at Becker and Juarez to rest once Nick had been found. But it was starting to surface again, stronger than ever.

"What about Juarez?" asked Brass. "You think Becker didn't plan it, so…Juarez was really just along for the ride? Jumped on the opportunity?"

Nick nodded. "I think so."

"How did he act out there?"

"He seemed like…at first he was pretty gung ho about it. But…" Nick shrugged. "After a while it seemed like he didn't want to be there. Becker was making all the moves. He was just following along. At least from what I saw when I was with them."

"Okay," said Brass, and then he proceeded carefully. "So, Nick…I know you were with them when they pulled over in Indian Springs…switched cars. There was a woman there…"

"Yeah…it was her car. Manny…he was gonna try to start it, but…she came out of the store and saw us. I tried to…" Nick shook his head. "I yelled at her to get out of there, but…he grabbed her…had the gun on her trying to get her keys. He got pretty rough with her. I tried to get him away from her…I tried to help her…" He looked down at his hands and saw that they were twisted in the sheet. He freed them and smoothed the sheet, and then spoke without looking up. "He shoved me…and then Becker…grabbed me..." He shook his head. "He slammed my head…my face…against our car." He sighed. "I don't know…I was bleeding…I couldn't see straight. I heard Manny yelling and the woman screaming. Next thing I know Becker's shoving me into the back of her car…hit my head again on the door frame. He shoved me onto the floor and got in behind me, so…I guess Manny was gonna drive. I heard a gunshot, and…" He looked up at Brass. "That's it. I blacked out."

The captain was having just as hard a time with this as Warrick was having. He knew from the evidence that they had found at the scene what had probably happened, but hearing it for certain…and from Nick himself…was infuriating him. His anger grew as he watched Nick go back to twisting the sheet in his hands, his head down. "Nick?" When he received no response, he asked again, "Nicky?"

The CSI looked up. "Huh?"

"Do you want to take a break?"

Nick was suddenly aware of Brass' and Warrick's eyes on him, and it made him feel like he was under a microscope. "No." He shook his head. "No…I'm…it's okay."

"You said you heard a gunshot. Do you know where it came from?"

"I think…I think the front seat." Nick cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure I heard the front window roll down. And Becker was in back with me. It didn't sound close enough to be from the back, but…I was…my head hurt so bad…and I wasn't really…" He looked at Brass. "I passed out then…I don't know."

"Okay…it's okay," said Brass softly.

"Did…they killed her, didn't they?"

The captain sighed. "Yeah…yeah, they did, Nick. I'm sorry."

The CSI nodded somberly, his eyes tearing up again. He had already known it.

"Hey, you know what? I could use something to drink. Why don't we stop for a little bit, huh?" Brass reached over and turned off the voice recorder before putting his notepad in his suit pocket. He stood up and said to Nick, "I see you've got some water there," nodding toward the tray table. "You want that? Or something else? I'm gonna see if I can find a pop machine."

Nick shook his head and mumbled, "No…thanks."

Brass looked over at Warrick. "How about you?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah…get me anything but diet." He stood up and made eye contact with the other man…a silent understanding.

"Okay…I'll be back in a bit." Brass glanced Nick's way once before leaving the room, and Warrick went over to sit in the chair he had just vacated.

"You okay?" Warrick asked.

Nick nodded but did not look up. "I'm just tired I guess."

"Don't try to pull that with me."

"Pull _what_, Warrick?" Nick asked, clearly irritated.

Warrick leaned over closer and said, "You're sittin' there trying to act like everything is cool…like it doesn't bother you."

"What the hell do _you_ know? It happened to _me_, Warrick. And it's over. I can talk about it without it bothering me."

Warrick sat back in the chair and watched his friend for a moment as he continued to twist the sheet in his hands, appearing oblivious to it. "You want some water?"

Nick looked up at him and then at the pitcher and glass on the tray table. "All right. Yeah…yeah, I guess so. Thanks."

"No problem." Warrick filled the cup and then snapped the lid/straw combo onto it tightly. He then held the cup out for Nick to take but far enough away so that he had to stretch his arm out straight to reach it. Warrick looked at the shaky hand for a moment before giving him the cup.

As he took it in his hand, Nick saw the other man watching him carefully. And although he did his best, he could not stop his hand from shaking. It was even more obvious now with the cup in it, and he quickly pulled it closer to himself and used his other hand to help steady it. But that hand was shaking as well, and he found it extremely difficult to lift it up to his mouth, especially with Warrick's eyes still trained on him. Finally he could take it no more. "Fine, Warrick!" He gave his friend an angry look. "Fine! You win! I can't even take a fucking drink of water!" He furiously flung the cup across the room where it hit the wall, the lid coming off and water splashing everywhere. "Are you happy now?"

All throughout Nick's fury, Warrick had watched calmly. And now that he was finished and sitting in the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, breathing rapidly and refusing to look at him, Warrick finally spoke. "No, man," he said softly. "I'm not happy. I'm anything but happy about this. But you can't just keep it all locked up inside, man."

"What do you want me to do, Warrick? You want me to sit here and cry over it? You want me to yell and scream and throw things?"

Warrick shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. How did it feel?"

Nick looked at him in disbelief. "How did it…?" Unbelievably, Warrick was grinning at him. Nick shook his head and couldn't help himself. He laughed a little. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you, you son of a bitch?" He nodded. "I guess it felt pretty good."

Now Warrick was laughing too. "Yeah, I thought so. You need to listen to me more often."

"You think so, do you?"

"Yeah, you might learn somethin'." Warrick stood up and went to the restroom, coming back out with a towel in his hand. "You know, I ought to make you do this, but I'll cut you a break."

"Thanks," Nick laughed as he watched him go to work cleaning up the water. And then he said it again, this time without laughing. "Thanks, Warrick."

* * *

**Does this make up for the previous, shorter chapter? :-) I hope you liked it! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Please drop a review and let me know what you think! I appreciate it! **


	20. Chapter 20

"_Yeah, you might learn somethin'." Warrick stood up and went to the restroom, coming back out with a towel in his hand. "You know, I ought to make you do this, but I'll cut you a break."_

"_Thanks," Nick laughed as he watched him go to work cleaning up the water. And then he said it again, this time without laughing. "Thanks, Warrick."_

_

* * *

_

Jim Brass entered Nick's room and was happy to find him in much better spirits than when he had left. He handed Warrick a can of soda and sat down in the chair next to him. He popped the top on his own can and took a drink before asking Nick, "So...you feel up to talking some more?"

Nick's smile faltered for a split second before it came back and he answered, "Yeah...yeah, sure."

Brass gave him a reassuring smile back, and Warrick excused himself and moved his chair back again to allow them some privacy. The captain set up the voice recorder and got out his notepad.

"Okay, Nick...let's get back to Cody Walsh, okay? You said it seemed like he didn't know they were coming to his place?"

"Right." Nick nodded.

"And he didn't seem very happy about them being there?"

"Right."

"Did you see him do anything really to help them?" Brass asked.

Nick leaned his head back into the pillow and looked up at the ceiling as he thought about the question and tried to recall exactly what had happened at the trailer. "Um…I know he gave them some shirts to change into. And they ate. I guess…somehow…when we left there we had a different vehicle, so I guess he gave them that. I don't know what happened to the car we came in."

After jotting down a few notes, Brass asked, "I don't suppose there's any chance that Walsh didn't know you were there unwillingly?"

Nick gave a sardonic laugh. "Oh, he knew. I mean, c'mon...I was handcuffed the whole time...I spent the night tied up on the floor of the damn closet, for crying out loud."

"I know," said Brass.

"And hell...I _told_ him I was a cop."

"You did?"

"Yeah...when they...after I..." Nick sighed. "When we got there...when I woke up...I was still in the back of the car...and they were up at the trailer talking to him. I got out and took off running, and they came after me. So...you know...he saw me trying to get away. And I told him I was a cop...that he shouldn't help them..."

"And what happened?" Brass asked.

Nick shrugged. "Didn't matter. Becker was pushing him...telling him it was just for the night and everything. Then he just went on in...pulled me in with him and told Manny to get in there. I don't think Cody could have said no even if he wanted to."

"But he didn't try to help you or anything like that?"

"Nope." Nick shook his head. "Just kind of kept to himself from what I saw of him."

"Okay, so..." Brass set his notepad down and leaned over so that he was a bit closer to Nick. "When you left the trailer...in the pickup truck, right?" Nick nodded, and he continued, "How long was it before they left you at the overpass?"

"Left me?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "That's a nice way to put it."

"Well..." Brass sat back in his chair. "Tell me about it then. What happened?"

Nick eyed him warily before answering. "I don't know how long it was...couple of hours, maybe? I was in the back all cramped up on the floor...sleeping...or passed out...I don't know...for part of the time. Then they stopped and Becker got out and dragged me out."

"What about Juarez? Did he get out?"

"No." Nick shook his head. "Anyway...Becker just...he…it doesn't matter. I ended up down there where you found me. And they drove off." He looked down and saw that his hands were twisted in the sheets again. _Damn it._

Brass did not say anything right away. He was dismayed by Nick seeming to just shrug off one of the most violent things that had happened to him during this ordeal, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with him. He had a job to do...get the information about what happened so that someone would be held responsible for the deaths that had occurred. But he also felt a responsibility to Nick. The CSI had been taken hostage and abducted on Brass' watch, and he couldn't help but feel some responsibility for what had happened. But fearing what Nick's reaction might be if he pressed him on the matter, Brass moved on with his questioning. "So, before they left you...did they encounter anyone else on the road? Or did you hear any more gunfire?"

Nick looked at him with a puzzled, irritated look. "No. Why?"

Weighing the pros and cons, Brass decided Nick needed...and deserved...to know everything. And since Nick had just confirmed what the evidence seemed to show...that Louie Boardman was killed after they had dumped Nick, he told him, "It looks like after they left you, the truck broke down. They flagged down a passing car and...stole it...left the truck there."

"And?" Nick knew there was more that the captain wasn't saying.

"And...they killed the driver."

Those were the words Nick had expected to hear, but they still sent a cold chill through his body. He knew all too well just how lucky he had been to get out of the situation alive. The fact that other people had not fared as well was sobering to him. He nodded and looked down. "Anybody else?"

"What's that?" Brass asked.

Nick looked up. "Is that it? Did they kill anyone else?"

"No…not that we know of anyway," said Brass.

"Good," Nick answered quietly.

"You know, Nick…we never recovered either of the guards' weapons that were taken. But we do know that the bullets that killed Paula Davenport and Louie Boardman came from two different guns. So it sounds like…"

"Like they each killed one person," Nick finished his sentence.

"Right. But that's if they stayed consistent…kept the same guns the whole time. Do you have any idea if they did?"

Nick shook his head.

"Nick?" The captain waited until Nick looked up at him before continuing. He leaned closer and spoke slowly and carefully, not sure of what the CSI's reaction might be to his next question. "Who shot you?"

Nick felt the question deep in his gut, just as he'd felt the bullet cut through him. _You know, as much fun as this is, I just ain't got the time for it. _ He jumped a little as the memory of the gunshot echoed in his head. He put his head down, swallowed hard, and whispered, "Becker. Becker did it."

Brass nodded. He had thought as much. Since Nick had avoided the details earlier of how he had ended up at the bottom of the ravine, he assumed this was all he would hear about the shooting as well, so he began to ask another question but was interrupted as Nick spoke again, so quietly that he had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said…he was laughing…watching me try to get away. Then…he shot me," he said simply. "I couldn't hold myself up then, so I just…slid all the way back down. Down into the trees."

"Did they leave then?" Brass knew that Becker and Juarez had both said that Juarez was sent to check on Nick, but they each had different versions of what had happened. He wanted to hear Nick's account without the influence of what the others had said.

Shaking his head, Nick answered softly, "No." He cleared his throat and spoke louder, "I was…um…down there…on my back. And I heard someone coming down the hill. It was Manny. He just stood there, looking down at me…didn't say anything. And then he…he pulled out his gun."

Brass gave Nick a moment as he saw the CSI trying to collect himself. Truth be told, this story was beginning to really wear on him as well, but he wanted to stay strong and be a support for Nick. So he waited, and soon Nick took a few shaky breaths and continued.

"I just…I just closed my eyes. I thought that was it. And you know what?" He lifted his eyes up to look at the man.

Nick's face looked as full of hopelessness and despair now as Brass imagined it must have then._ Jesus._ "What, Nicky?"

His lips trembled as he answered. "I didn't care."

"Nick…"

"I didn't." He shook his head. "Just get it over with, is what I was thinking." Then he laughed humorlessly. "I had no idea how much worse it could get, I guess. Or maybe I did. But…right then…I was just so tired…and I hurt…and I…he didn't shoot me anyway. He shot across the creek, but…"

Not wanting to distract Nick by taking notes right now, Brass filed this detail away in his head for reference. Juarez had been telling the truth, not Becker. He had granted Nick one small mercy, letting him live for the moment. It didn't make up for everything else he did, but it scored him a few points. "But what?"

"I guess I…I gave in…gave up…because I felt more helpless. They gagged me at the trailer before we left. I couldn't try to talk him out of it like before."

"Talk…who? Juarez? Out of what?"

"Out of shooting me," Nick answered.

"Like before? You talked him out of shooting you before?"

Nick shook his head. "No." He sank back into the pillow and let out a deep sigh, wondering if he really wanted to remember this. "I told you before…that I got out of the car and ran? And they caught me, but…it was Manny. We were in the woods, and he had his gun on me, and I tried to talk him out of it…tried to get him to let me go."

"He didn't go for it, huh?"

"I thought he might. He seemed like he might. I told him they might go easier on him if he helped me, but…" Nick stopped short and his mouth dropped open.

"Nick?"

Nick turned to Brass, his mouth still open.

"Nick, what's the matter?"

"It was him."

"What was him?" Brass asked.

"Oh my God. It was him. I remember now." _Are you fucking kidding me? I __killed__ that bitch! How much worse can it get? _Nick swallowed hard and answered, "Manny killed Paula Davenport."

* * *

"Hey, Jim." Clark County District Attorney Leonard Childs looked up as the captain entered his office. He moved several piles of paper around on his desk until he uncovered the file he was looking for. He pulled it out and opened it, then looked at Brass who had seated himself in a chair at the D.A.'s desk. "You talked to him?"

"Yeah," Brass said. "This morning."

"How'd it go?"

"Pretty good…pretty good. I'm not sure it's good enough to hold up in court, but it just might be good enough to get Walsh and Juarez to flip on Becker."

Childs leaned back in his chair and nodded. "How so?"

"We're gonna need to talk to Juarez again…see if he can fill in any blanks that match what Nick had to say, but I don't think he had much input as to what went on out there."

"Come on, Jim. Let's cut to the chase. You know what I need to know. Who killed those people? Did Stokes give you any information that's gonna help me with that?"

Brass stared at the man a moment before sighing and taking out his notepad. "All right. Paula Davenport. Nick didn't see the shooting, but he said Juarez was in the front seat, Becker in the back, and the shot came from the front."

"That's it? That's nothing, Jim. That's not getting me a conviction." Childs looked at the captain with a frustrated scowl."

"_And…_" Brass said pointedly. "Juarez admitted it."

At that statement, Childs perked up. "He did?"

"Yeah…seems Nick was trying to talk him into letting him go…telling him we'd go easier on him later if he helped him. Juarez wasn't buying it…said…" He looked at his notes and continued, "I killed that bitch."

"Okay…okay…" The D.A. rubbed his chin as he thought about this new information. "That's good, Jim. That gives me some accountability and also gives me something to hold over Juarez…see if I can get something else out of him. What about Boardman? Who killed him?"

Brass shook his head. "Looks like that happened after they dumped Nick. He didn't have any information on that."

"_Damn_ it!" Childs threw his pen down onto the desk in frustration. "And your people still haven't found those guns?"

"Hey, look, Leonard. I want to nail these guys as much as you. Probably more. We're doing the best we can."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No." Brass sighed. "We haven't found the guns. Juarez was clean when we picked him up…had nothing but the clothes on his back. And Becker…we've searched the car as well as Anna Mathis' house three times already. No guns."

"What about ballistics tests?" Childs had picked the pen back up and was now tapping the desk with it.

"Nothing new…you know that. But with this info about Juarez, it makes a little more sense. We know the bullet that killed Boardman came from a different gun than the one that killed the woman."

"Just because it was a different gun doesn't mean Juarez didn't do the shooting both times."

"I know…I know. But…" Brass leaned forward in his chair. "In between those two shootings…Becker shot Nick. We know that for sure. Nick was awake and alert when that happened. And then…Juarez went after him on Becker's orders to finish him off. But Juarez refused…shot into the woods to make Becker think he did it. Nick witnessed that too."

Childs crossed his arms. "So?"

"So…it seems pretty obvious to me that Becker killed Boardman. Juarez was already checking out in his head by then, I think. He just wanted it to be over. He didn't kill Nick. And I don't think he killed Boardman either."

"Obvious to you, but to a jury? Come on, Jim, you know we need more than that."

Brass sat back in his chair and shook his head. "I don't think so. I think if you talk to Juarez…get his side and see if it matches up to what Nick said…and I think it will…then you can convince him to roll on Becker. Walsh too. Nick says Becker pushed him around too…that Walsh didn't do much to help him."

"Except give him a place to sleep. And food. Give him a change of clothes and burn the others. And oh yeah…hide his car and give him a new vehicle to take."

"Becker was intimidating…threatening. Nick said he just barged into the trailer…made Juarez come too. Walsh had no choice. He did what he had to do to keep Becker happy and get him out of there." When Childs just looked at him without responding, Brass added, "Look, Walsh admitted all of that. He knows he's getting time for it. Just…get him to give up more info on what Becker did there…what he said. That's gonna be more evidence to back you up on Becker killing Boardman."

"All right…all right…I'll see what I can do…see if any of them will go for a deal. The sooner we get this finished up the better." Childs stood up from his desk and gathered some papers up, putting them into his briefcase, and headed out the door. "I'm late for a hearing. Let me know if you find out anything else."

Alone in the office now, Brass answered, "I will."

* * *

"We can talk about it later, Jillian."

She took the cup of coffee her husband offered her. "But don't you think…"

"I don't think anything right now," he answered, lowering his voice. It was late, and the hospital corridor outside their son's room was almost empty save for a few straggling visitors making their last rounds before heading home for the night, which was why the Stokes were there as well. "There's plenty of time for that, and he has to be involved in the decision too."

"Of course, but…" She looked over her shoulder at the doorway to Nick's room. "It's going to take a long time for him to be well enough to be on his own."

"Let's just take it a day at a time, okay?"

She looked up at him into eyes that were very much like her son's, and it made her smile. "Okay." She nodded. "We'll see how things…" Suddenly, a sound from inside the room made her smile falter, and both of them rushed inside.

"_Fuck it." The light in the car wouldn't go off, so Nick just ran for it. Across the darkened field, he tried to stay low as he headed for the tree line. But angry shouts from behind him let him know that he had been seen. Almost there…he was almost there…and then, just as he was within a few steps of cover, the trees disappeared, replaced by more empty field. And still he ran._

"_I see you, motherfucker! I'll get you!"_

_Nick dared to look behind him as he ran, and he saw nothing there. No Becker. No Juarez. No car. No trailer. Nothing. Just the moonlight shining on the open field. But just as he turned back around he heard the shots…felt them hitting his body. One…two…three…four…he lost count and dropped to the ground gasping for breath. _

_Ron Becker stood over him, laughing and pointing the gun at his head. "Told you I'd get you."_

Alerted by the sounds of distress coming from Nick's room, his parents entered quickly and found him asleep but flailing his arms above him and then crossing them over his face, covering his head as he mumbled and moaned.

His mother was first to reach him, and she tried to take hold of his arms but he only pulled away from her. Her husband pushed past her and was able to grasp Nick's arms and pull them away from his face as he called his son's name, trying to wake him from the nightmare.

Nick awoke with a start, staring not into Becker's face above him but that of his father. It only took him a brief moment to realize where he was and to feel more guilt for the looks of fear in his parents' eyes. "I'm okay…I'm okay…" he gasped, trying to convince himself as much as them.

His father let go of his arms and stepped back, allowing Jillian her turn at comforting their son. She placed a cool hand against his warm cheek and nodded. "Yes, you're okay, Nicky…you're okay."

Nick swallowed hard and looked at them sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to…"

"Shhhh…you don't have anything to be sorry about," his mother assured him as she continued to stroke his face. "Are you worried about tomorrow? Is that what you were dreaming about?"

Tomorrow. He was scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning, but he had almost forgotten about it in the wake of the dream he had just had. He looked into her worried face as she waited for him to answer. "Yeah…yeah, that…that must be it."

"It will be fine, Nicky. We'll be here. You don't have anything to worry about." She smiled at him.

He forced a smile back at her and took her hand. "I know, Mom. I know."

* * *

**Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter! I hope you're still out there reading and enjoying it, even if some of the action has died down a little. :-) Please drop a review and let me know what you think! Thanks again! I appreciate it!**


	21. Chapter 21

_Tomorrow. He was scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning, but he had almost forgotten about it in the wake of the dream he had just had. He looked into her worried face as she waited for him to answer. "Yeah…yeah, that…that must be it." _

"_It will be fine, Nicky. We'll be here. You don't have anything to worry about." She smiled at him._

_He forced a smile back at her and took her hand. "I know, Mom. I know."_

_

* * *

_

"What time is it, Bill?"

Bill Stokes looked at his watch and answered his wife, biting his tongue about this being the fifth time she had asked in the past hour. "Half past one."

Jillian Stokes bit her lip as she looked down at her hands, twisting them together. She stopped suddenly as her husband's hand came into view and settled on tops of hers. She looked up at him as he closed his hand around one of hers and lifted it up to kiss it softly.

"Everything's going to be fine," he said.

She nodded, but looked anxiously around the waiting room.

They had been here since early in the morning after seeing Nick off to surgery. Several times a nurse had come into the room to update them on the progress; however she had not been back since the last check in about an hour ago. Neither of the Stokes voiced any concern, but each of them knew it was there nonetheless. Finally they looked up to see the surgeon coming into the room. They started to stand up, but he motioned for them to stay seated as he took the chair opposite them.

"Everything went well," he began, seeing the relief on their faces before continuing. "Just as the x-rays showed, the breaks were pretty clean. We got them set with no problems."

Both of the Stokes let out a sigh of relief at the news, but the doctor had more to tell them.

"As for his ankle...we didn't anticipate doing anything with that. Grade 3 sprains will usually heal without surgery, but since we were already in there we took a look. As you know, the ligaments were completely torn, but we also found some places where the bones in the joint had chipped. So we got those out of there too."

"So…" Bill hesitated before asking, "You think…everything will heal okay?"

The doctor smiled. "I do. With the surgical wound we weren't able to cast him yet, but it should heal up quickly and we'll get that done. For now we have it splinted to immobilize it."

"When can we see him, doctor?" Jillian asked, still anxious despite the positive news.

"I'd say in a couple of hours or so. He's in recovery now and will be monitored there for a while until he's fully conscious and we're sure there are no complications. Then we'll get him moved back to his room. You can see him then."

The Stokes took advantage of the waiting time to have a bite to eat in the hospital cafeteria before going to wait in Nick's room. They had been there for about fifteen minutes before a nurse asked them to wait outside as they brought Nick in and got him settled. The couple left the room and watched as their son was wheeled by and into the room. His eyes were closed, and he was covered with a thick layer of blankets. It took several minutes before the nurses came back out and let them know that they could go in.

"He's going to be pretty groggy still for the rest of the day," one of the nurses said. "But you can stay as long as you like."

They thanked her and then went into the room. Jillian immediately went to her son's side, pulling a chair up close. Her husband stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. They both watched as Nick appeared to be sleeping but suddenly opened his eyes and looked at them.

"Hi," he said tiredly, blinking his eyes.

His mother reached out and took his hand. "Hi, sweetie. Everything went well. You're going to be just fine."

Nick cleared his throat and sighed deeply. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yes. You're still pretty sleepy, aren't you?"

"Mmm hmm…"

"You just relax and get some rest. We'll be here, okay? Your father and I. We aren't going anywhere." She squeezed his hand tightly.

Nick squeezed back and mumbled some acknowledgment as he closed his eyes again.

Jillian waited until she was sure he was sleeping soundly before she let go of his hand. Her husband sat next to her and put his arm around her. "You know what I was thinking about, don't you?" she whispered without taking her eyes off of Nick.

"I do," he answered softly. "But he's fine…everything's okay now."

"_What's taking them so long?"_

"_I don't _know_, Jillian!" her husband answered irritably as he paced back and forth in the waiting room. "How many times are you going to ask me that?" He immediately regretted the outburst as he saw the tears forming in her eyes. He went to her and sat at her side, taking her hands in his. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry." He put a hand against her cheek and wiped a tear away with his thumb._

"_What if something's wrong? He's just a baby." _

"_He's six years old, honey. He's old enough…the doctor said so."_

"_But..." _

"_It's a simple operation. Kids have their tonsils out all the time. Nick will be fine." He gave her a reassuring smile. Even though he was worried as well, he wanted to be strong for her._

"_But he was so scared." Jillian pulled away from her husband and reached into her pocket for a tissue that was well-worn already. She dabbed her eyes with it and then kept it in her hands, twisting it into a tight ball. "And they said it would be over already. And…they haven't updated us like they said they would."_

_As if to refute her statement, a man in scrubs entered the room. It wasn't the surgeon, however, nor was it the nurse who had been updating them, and this increased the couple's anxiety. Bill immediately stood up but then sat back down as the man asked as he took a seat as well. "Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, I'm Tim Hunter, the anesthesiologist for your son's surgery."_

"_What's wrong?" asked Jillian nervously. "Something went wrong, didn't it?"_

"_He's fine, Mrs. Stokes. He's in the recovery room right now and doing well. But…we did have a little bit of a problem bringing him out of the anesthesia. That's what's taken so long."_

"_What do you mean? What kind of problem?" It was Bill who spoke this time._

"_Let me emphasize again, he's doing fine right now, okay?" Hunter tried to calm them down. "But…as we were finishing up, he began to have some difficulty breathing, so we wanted to get him awake as quickly as we could, and he just wouldn't come out of it."_

_Jillian stood up. "I want to see him. Now."_

_The man looked up at her. "Mrs. Stokes, please…"_

"_I said I want to see my son."_

"_Jillian…" Bill stood up as well and took her arm._

"_Mrs. Stokes…Mr. Stokes…" Hunter stood now as well. "I promise you…we're taking very good care of him. But we need to keep an eye on him for a little bit longer…in the recovery room where we can intervene right away if there are any more problems. We'll let you see him as soon as we can."_

_An agonizing hour and a half later, the Stokes were rewarded finally by the sight of their son as they waited in a room in the children's ward. The sleeping little boy looked so small as he was transferred to the bed. But his mother would have none of that. She sat in a nearby rocker and insisted that she be allowed to hold him. So he was placed in her arms and she held him close to her as she rocked him back and forth._

_It wasn't long before Nick began to stir, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His mother took care to make sure that he did not disturb the IV that was inserted into the back of his little hand. He opened his eyes and tried to speak, but she quickly hushed him. "Shhhh…don't try to talk, sweetie. Not until you're a little better, okay?" He insisted though and sleepily whispered something so quietly that she had to lean in close to hear him. She smiled in spite of her worry and told him, "Yes, baby, you'll get ice cream…just like we promised. Tomorrow, okay? You need to sleep first. Now no more talking."_

_Nick started to say something to agree but stopped, then nodded instead and laid his head against her shoulder. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes again, and soon he succumbed to the rhythm of the rocking and the security of his mother's arms around him. _

_Bill had taken a seat on a small sofa nearby and he was soon sleeping as well. He awoke some time later in the night to find that his wife and son were both sound asleep in the rocker. He stood up and went to them and gently lifted the little boy out of his mother's arms and placed him into the bed, drawing the blankets up over him. Nick let out a soft sigh and turned onto his side. Jillian had barely moved when her husband took the child, so he did not disturb her. He got another blanket from the closet and covered her with it, then went back to sit on the sofa. Watching his family, he did not sleep for the rest of the night._

_

* * *

_

"Still feelin' loopy?" Warrick asked as he watched Nick trying to sit up in the bed without much luck...or coordination.

His friend gave him a scowl. "Maybe. Why?"

"'Cause you're flopping around in that bed like a fish tryin' to jump out of a boat."

"That's funny?" Nick asked as his hand lost purchase on the mattress again, causing him to slide sideways instead of up.

"A little bit...yeah." Warrick chuckled. "C'mon, man...they said you're supposed to stay still. Anyway, you aren't going anywhere with that big ol' splint on your leg." He watched as Nick tried to disprove him by pushing with both hands now as he tried to sit up, but again he slid. "See?"

"Well, Jesus, Warrick! Help me then!"

"All right, here..." Warrick leaned over and adjusted the bed so that the head of it rose up. "There. That's as far as it goes. You're not supposed to be sitting all the way up."

Nick shot him a look as he settled in and straightened the sheet around him. "Got it, mom," he said sarcastically.

Warrick sat back down in his chair and leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're awful cranky this afternoon...especially for a guy who's still pretty doped up."

Sighing, Nick pouted a moment more before saying, "I'm sorry. I'm just sick of being here. I'm sick of not being able to fend for myself. And I just want to go home."

"Yeah...I know," his friend said sympathetically. "Speaking of...any idea when you'll be out of here?"

Nick flipped the sheet up off of his splinted leg to take a look at it. It was heavily bandaged to keep it immobile, but he could see the area where the surgeon had cut down the length of the front of his leg and around his ankle. "Whenever they can put a real cast on, I guess. As soon as the incision heals some. Couple of days maybe?"

"That's good. Your folks gonna hang around then at your place for a while?"

"I don't know, man." Nick covered his leg back up with the sheet and leaned back against the pillow, sighing heavily. "Either my mom's gonna stay, or...well, she would rather I just come back home with them for now."

Warrick nodded. "Not a bad idea. You're gonna have a lot of time off coming."

"I don't _want_ a lot of time off, Warrick. I just want things to get back to normal."

"Yeah, well..." Warrick leaned forward. "You're not getting off that easy. You know how it goes. The department's gonna wanna make sure you're 'fit' to come back so they don't get sued if you fall or something."

Nick eyed him. "Or something?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not gonna freak out, Warrick."

"Yeah yeah...I know," Warrick assured him. "But you know there's no way you're getting back to work without talking to somebody."

Nick fixed his friend with a stony stare. "You mean a shrink." It was not a question.

"Whatever you want to call it, but yeah. C'mon, would it be that bad?" When Nick did not answer, Warrick shrugged and added, "I'd talk to one if it was me."

"Yeah, right."

"Well, whatever. It's not up to me. Or you either probably."

A few moments of silence passed between the two men before Warrick spoke up again, changing the subject. "So...you gonna go to Texas?"

Nick shook his head. "Nah...no sense in that. I'll be able to get around pretty good before too long, and besides...she might not let me come back." He laughed a little, not sure himself if he was kidding or not.

Warrick noticed how Nick's southern accent got a little stronger when he talked about home. "She just wants to take care of you."

"I know," Nick answered softly, his eyes cast downward and his hands fidgeting. "But I can take care of myself."

"You've got a broken leg, man! You're gonna need some help! Quit trying to be some kind of superhero."

"I don't know." Nick looked back up at him. "I'll let them stay here awhile, I guess...couple of days maybe."

"Couple of days?" Warrick scoffed. "Man, you're not gonna be able to get along by yourself that soon." He shook his head. "Tell you what...I'll hang around there for a while...help you out. You let your mom baby you for a few days, and then tell them they can go on home and I'll come over."

"You don't need to do that, Warrick."

"I want to. It's no problem. Or hey…you could stay at my place instead. Either way." When Nick hesitated before saying anything else, Warrick grew more serious and added, "Really…c'mon, Nick…I want to."

Nick looked down again, biting his lip as he considered his friend's offer. He hated having to ask anyone for help, but he had to admit that it would be better than disrupting his parents' lives any more than he already had done. He knew they wanted to be there for him and to support him, but he also knew they couldn't stay in Vegas indefinitely. Knowing that he had friends to help him out would be sure to make them feel better about leaving him. Finally he looked at Warrick and nodded. "Okay…okay, that sounds good. Thanks, Warrick."

Warrick broke into a grin. "All right, then. It's a deal."

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**Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate it! I hope you like this chapter. We're getting close to the end now. Please leave a little review and let me know what you think! :-)**


	22. Chapter 22

_Nick looked down again, biting his lip as he considered his friend's offer. He hated having to ask anyone for help, but he had to admit that it would be better than disrupting his parents' lives any more than he already had done. He knew they wanted to be there for him and to support him, but he also knew they couldn't stay in Vegas indefinitely. Knowing that he had friends to help him out would be sure to make them feel better about leaving him. Finally he looked at Warrick and nodded. "Okay…okay, that sounds good. Thanks, Warrick."_

_Warrick broke into a grin. "All right, then. It's a deal."_

_

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_

Nick's father had gone back to Texas after Nick's first night home, but his mother was still taking up residence in the spare room and enjoying every minute of looking after her son. She was careful to give him some space, but she made sure she was always nearby if he needed something. And she spent quite a lot of time in the kitchen, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to ensure that he was well fed, especially with some of the dishes she remembered as being his favorites. And one thing she had been most grateful for in her time here was that Nick seemed to be sleeping well. Or so she thought.

Unbeknown to his mother, in the few days since Nick had been released from the hospital, his nights had been mostly restless. He was unable to move much due to the cast on his leg, and that made him uncomfortable which meant he was quick to wake up when the dreams started. As disturbing as they typically were, he wouldn't exactly call them nightmares. He usually awoke with a start, but at least he was coherent enough to restrain himself from making any noise that might alarm his mother in the next room. Until tonight.

They had spent a quiet evening watching a movie on television. It was a nice change from all of the activity that had filled house over the past several days. A constant stream of visitors had been coming by, each person with good intentions of not wanting to stay long or wear Nick out, but the frequency of company was beginning to take its toll on Nick both physically and mentally.

In addition to the visitors, Nick was quickly tiring of being the sole object of his mother's attention. He was very grateful for her help, especially at first, but he was starting to get around a little better on his own now and didn't need her assistance every minute of the day. And yet, she was there. Every minute of the day. She tried not to hover over him constantly, giving him some time to himself now and then, but she couldn't stay away for long. She wanted to make sure he had a blanket if he was cold, a fan if he was hot, food if he was hungry, and something to entertain himself if he was bored.

But this evening they had been able to relax some and just watch the movie without much interruption. Although she had asked several times, he declined her offers of any help or anything to make him more comfortable. He was polite, but he knew that she sensed something might be wrong. After he assured her he was fine and she could go on to bed, she reluctantly went as soon as the movie was over, leaving him to make his way to bed on his own. Maneuvering on his crutches, it took him twice as long to get ready and finally into bed, but it felt good to do it without help. He soon fell into a deep sleep and almost made it through the night without waking up. Almost, but not quite. And he knew at once, when he suddenly found himself wide awake and sitting up in bed, that he had cried out loud this time.

A soft knock was followed by her worried voice. "Nick?"

His heart still racing from the nightmare, he let out a long sigh and rubbed his forehead with his hand as he answered, "Yeah...yeah, come on in." He reached over and turned on the lamp, squinting as the bright light filled the room which was still dark in the early morning hour. He covered his eyes briefly with his hand as they adjusted to the light, and he heard the door open as his mother came in.

She stood at first uncertainly in the doorway, not sure if she should come all the way in or not and looking to Nick for the answer. He was sitting up in the bed with his hand over his face, breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat on his arms which were bare beneath the short sleeves of his t-shirt. Tentatively she asked, "Nick? Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath, and when he took his hand away from his face he was smiling her way. "I'm fine, Mom. It's okay."

Encouraged, she came farther into the room. "Are you sure? Do you need to...get up or anything?"

He shook his head. "No...I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you."

She nodded her head thoughtfully as she continued to look at him. "It's just...it seems like you've been sleeping well since you got home. I thought maybe..." She hesitated a moment before continuing, "I thought maybe you weren't having nightmares anymore."

Although she had said she "thought" he wasn't having nightmares anymore, Nick knew that she really meant that she "hoped" he wasn't having nightmares anymore. There was no way she could know for sure because every morning when she had asked him how he had slept he had predictably answered with one word…fine. But his eyes told another story. Weary and bloodshot, they betrayed the fact that he had spent another night without rest...another night full of dreams taunting him and waking him. He knew he wasn't fooling her any more than he was fooling himself. He might as well come clean about it.

Nick sat up a little straighter in the bed and pushed his pillows up behind him so that he could lean back on them as he sat. "Come on in, Mom...sit down a minute…let's talk," he said as he patted the mattress beside him.

At first Jillian was relieved, some of her concern fading at the invitation to come and sit by him. But the worry returned as she wondered what it was that he wanted to talk about. She approached the bed and then sat down next to him. He took her hand and squeezed it, giving her a reassuring smile before letting go, and she smiled back. "What is it, sweetie?"

"I just wanted to make sure you know how much I appreciate your help. I don't know what I would have done without you here these past few days."

She knew what he was getting at. She waited and then said, "But?"

He shook his head. "No 'buts'. It's true...how much I appreciate all you've done. It's just...I think I'll be okay on my own now, you know? I think it would be all right if you go on ahead back home."

"Nick..."

"I'll be okay. Really."

She looked him up and down. The lower half of his body was covered by a sheet, but she could see the shape of his casted leg underneath it. That was what worried her most about leaving him...his broken leg. But taking in the rest of his appearance concerned her as well. The scrapes and bruises on his arms and face were fading, but he was pale, his tired eyes as dark as night, stark against his lighter than normal complexion. She reached out and laid her hand against his face, stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. "You're not sleeping well."

"Mom..." He put his hand over hers and held it there for a moment before taking it away. "It's going to get better. It'll just take time, and that's nothing that you can help with really."

She shook her head. "You always say that, Nick. Every time something bad happens...that things will get better...that they'll be okay."

"Well...aren't they?"

"I don't know. How would I know? With you...everything is always fine, even when I know it's not. But you won't let anyone in...you won't let anyone help you. And how do we know then that you're really okay? Especially when we're so far away." She was fighting back the tears now.

"You'll know because I'll tell you. I promise. I promise that if things aren't going well or if I need something, I'll call you." He saw the doubt in her eyes. "I will."

"How are you going to get around? Fix your meals? Do your laundry?"

"Warrick will come by and help out. He already said he would, and he lives close. It won't be any trouble," Nick replied.

"It's not any trouble for _me_, Nick."

"I know, Mom...and I appreciate it. Really. But..." He tried to be as gentle as he could so as not to hurt her feelings, although he knew that was bound to happen no matter how delicately he said it. "You and I both know it _is_ trouble. You've been away long enough. You're needed back at home, and...I think it's time for you to go on back."

She sighed and looked down a moment before saying what he knew she was going to say. "I think you should come back with me."

"Mom..."

"It would be so much easier. I'm sure they'll be giving you a lot of time off. You can stay in your old room, and I know everyone would love to see you." She looked at him hopefully. "I could take care of you then."

Nick slowly shook his head. "I can't, Mom."

"But you'll..."

He took hold of her arms and looked her in the eye. "I can't, Mom," he said again, this time more insistently. "This is my home now. This is where I need to be." When she looked down, he leaned over to make eye contact again. "You understand, don't you?"

She swallowed hard. Yes, she understood. But she hated letting go. She forced a smile as she looked back up at him, but she could no longer keep the tears from falling. "I'm sorry," she laughed, quickly brushing them away. "I know I'm being silly."

"No." He shook his head. "No, you're not." He leaned over and put his arms around her, pulling her close as she returned the embrace. "I understand," he whispered.

She held onto him tightly for several minutes before letting go and wiping her face again. "You're my youngest, Nicky. You'll always be my baby, even when you don't need me anymore."

"I'll always need you, Mom," he assured her. "You've taught me so much and you've always been there for me. Even..." He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to go into this with her. But the look on her face convinced him. She was lost right now, unsure of herself and of her place in his life, and she needed to hear it. "You've been there for me, even when you _weren't_ here."

She smiled at him. "You're sweet to say that."

"It's true, Mom. Listen..." He wanted to be careful about what he said next. His parents knew in general what had happened to him. Captain Brass had briefed them on things when they had first arrived and had gone into a little more detail with them after that. But for the most part they had no real idea of what Nick had experienced. No one had really. His friends and family were reluctant to ask questions or push him to talk about it much. Just like everything else that had ever happened to him, it seemed like they thought things were okay as long as Nick didn't say otherwise. And Nick would never say otherwise.

His mother was looking concerned, waiting for him to continue. "Nick?"

"While I was out there...you know...by myself...waiting to...to be found..." He cleared his throat and looked at her. "I kept having these...I don't know...dreams? Hallucinations? Just...memories...of things, I guess. And you were there. You were always there."

At first what he'd said about her being there didn't register with her. She couldn't get past the idea of him being somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, hurt and alone. Ever since this whole thing had started, she had purposely pushed those thoughts out of her mind, refusing to imagine what it was like for him and what he had to endure, and now here he was about to tell her anyway. But if he wanted to talk to her about it, then she would listen.

Nick took a deep breath before continuing. "I just remembered...well, not remembered exactly. Like I said, I'm not sure what you'd call it, but it was like I was there again...when I was younger. And you were always there, making me feel better. Like the time I cut my leg on the fence."

His mother smiled at the memory. "You were so afraid your father would be mad. And as I recall, you were afraid to go to the doctor too."

"Yeah." He smiled back. "But I wasn't afraid for long. I knew it would be okay because you said it would. And you were right. Just like when I got scared of the thunderstorms."

Now she laughed. "Giants. You thought it was giants coming to get you."

Nick shook his head, embarrassed. "I was so stupid to believe that."

"No..." She touched his arm. "You were little and sweet."

"And gullible."

"Yes, I suppose," she laughed.

He grew serious again. "You taught me how to count to see how far away the lightning was. I never forgot that. I remember I even told some other kids at school about it and they laughed, but then the teacher said I was right...said _you_ were right. That made me feel proud."

"I'm glad you have those happy memories, Nick."

"Well, me too...I mean...you know...when I was out there...and remembering those things...it was like...like...you were there with me. Like...I knew everything would be okay. Because you always make everything okay." Now it was Nick's turn to try to keep the tears at bay.

His mother was no longer successful at it, however. "I'm sorry," she apologized again as she wiped her face and listened as he continued.

"But...I was still afraid. I saw when you stayed home with me when I got sick...and helped me learn how to cross the street...and took me to my first nighttime movie...and I thought...I thought maybe it was my life passing before my eyes, you know? Like they say happens when..."

"Nick..."

"Like when you're gonna die."

She had thought that the idea of her son being out there somewhere lost and hurt and alone was as bad as it could get. But now...knowing that he had been remembering better days...thinking of her...and thinking he was going to die without seeing his family or friends again...it was too much for her to bear. She lowered her head and put her face in her hands, crying and shaking her head. "Nick..."

"It's okay, Mom." He reached for her and put his arms around her, holding her tightly. "I'm okay. Everything's going to be okay now. I'm okay. Please don't cry anymore. I'm okay."

He held her silently for the next several minutes while she wept softly against his shoulder, hating every second of it. She had come to Vegas to care for him and support him and now he was the one doing the comforting. She gave him one more tight squeeze with her arms and then rubbed his back with her hands for a moment before letting go. "I hate this, Nick. I _hate_ that something like this can happen and I'm not able to be there for you...that I'm helpless to help you."

"But you're not, Mom...you're not helpless. That's what I'm saying." He looked her in the eye and smiled. "Don't you see? That's what I'm trying to tell you. Everything you've ever done for me...the way you raised me and the love you showed me...that's why I'm still here. Thinking about that...those memories...that's why I was able to hold on." He shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "Because of you."

She considered all that he had said, trying to replace images of him hurt and alone with the better images that he had remembered from his childhood, and she could not help but smile. Her son had been such a wonderful little boy and she had often wondered what kind of man he would grow up to be. The answer was sitting in front of her trying his best to make her feel needed when she knew as well as he did that he could take care of himself now. She reached out and placed her hand against his face, smiling. "I'm proud of you, you know."

He laughed a little and said, "Yeah…I know."

She sighed heavily and then stood up. "Well…I have a flight to arrange for…today?"

Nick looked up at her. "How about for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow then. Now, I think you should try to get some more sleep this morning if you can."

He shook his head. "Nah…I'm too awake now. And…" He shifted his eyes to look at her and raised his eyebrows. "I'm kinda hungry."

His mother's expression brightened considerably. "I'll get some breakfast started then while you get ready. Can I help you with…" She stopped herself and briefly shook her head, then turned to go out the door, saying over her shoulder, "I'll see you in the kitchen."

Nick smiled as she closed the door behind her. "See you in the kitchen."

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**Thank you all once again for reading and for sticking with the story. I hope everyone had a great holiday season! I'm tired of the CSI reruns and ready for some new episodes, but I have to say I was a little ticked that they stole my title for an episode (418/427)! ;-) What are the odds? Anyway, again I offer apologies for the time it's taken to publish again. Since the last chapter I've also published a one shot, Never Let Me Down, a Nick and Warrick friendship piece that you can check out if you like. And I hope you like this chapter! We have one more left to go.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Good news and bad news. The bad news is that I feel like this chapter is on the short side. The good news is...it's not the last chapter as planned. :-) There will be one more after this and then that's it for sure. Promise. Hope you enjoy this one, and thank you again for reading/reviewing!**

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**

_His mother's expression brightened considerably. "I'll get some breakfast started then while you get ready. Can I help you with…" She stopped herself and briefly shook her head, then turned to go out the door, saying over her shoulder, "I'll see you in the kitchen."_

_Nick smiled as she closed the door behind her. "See you in the kitchen."_

The next morning, Jillian Stokes exchanged hugs with her son in front of his house and then got into the cab which would take her to the airport. Nick waved as he watched the cab drive away, and he stood on the curb looking after it until it was out of sight. He turned around and slowly made his way back to his empty house on his crutches. He managed to navigate his way through the door without falling, but the exertion took its toll on him. He stopped at the nearest piece of furniture as he entered the house, easing himself down onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

His mother had left reluctantly, although she tried hard not to show it. She knew Nick was right. He was a strong man, and she knew he could make it on his own...at least physically. But she worried too about how he was handling things mentally. The hospital had required a psychological exam before he was allowed to leave, and the doctor had agreed that he was doing fine but required that he schedule follow-up visits after his discharge. At the very least, before she left him, she made sure that he had made the appointments and promised to keep them.

Nick had promised, but it wasn't without reservation. The only reason he had agreed to continue seeing the psychiatrist was because he knew there was no way he would be allowed to go back to work without doing so. He hoped that by seeing the hospital "shrink", as he put it, for a few visits that he would not have to undergo any further analysis later by the department's therapist.

Alone in the house for the first time since his ordeal began, he looked around his living room. From his spot on the couch he could hear the soft whir of the dishwasher in the kitchen. His mother had loaded it up that morning before she left, but only after he promised her that he wouldn't try to put them away himself. She could only imagine Nick on crutches trying to balance and put everything away without breaking anything. He had assured her again that he wouldn't attempt it and that he would ask Warrick to do it.

Above the quiet sound of the dishwasher he could hear the steady tick of the clock on his kitchen wall. He glanced up at it and saw that it was nearly 10:30. He needed to get up and get ready because Warrick would be coming by soon to take him to his appointment with the hospital psychiatrist. He took a deep breath and grabbed his crutches, trying his best to arrange them so that he could stand up, but again the effort was too tiring. He put the crutches back down against the end of the couch, deciding that the clothes he was wearing were good enough to go. He hadn't shaved, but he figured a little scruff wouldn't hurt either. Looking a little rough around the edges was a small price to pay for not having to expend the energy to get up off of the couch right now. He settled back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes. About ten minutes later he was just about to drift off to sleep when a knock at the door brought him to full alert. "Who is it?"

From the other side of the door came the muffled response. "Mother Teresa, who do you think? Open up, man!"

Warrick. _Shit_. Nick had forgotten he wouldn't be able to get into the house on his own, but these days he never left the door unlocked. Now he _had_ to get up. "Hang on!" he yelled toward the door as he reached for his crutches again. After much struggling he finally managed to get to his feet and make his way to the door. He unlocked it and opened it, then stood back. "Come on in."

Warrick pushed the door the rest of the way open and looked inside. Nick was standing off to the side, his face drenched in sweat, breathing hard and trying not to show it. Warrick considered him for a moment and then strode into the house, closing the door behind him. "Guess I need a key, huh?" He turned to look at Nick.

"Guess so," Nick answered resignedly, wishing like hell his friend hadn't caught him looking so weak and unable to do the simplest thing like answer the door. But Warrick made no comment about it and asked instead if he was ready leave. "Yeah...let's go."

"All right then...let's get to it." Warrick opened the door and waited while Nick slowly made his way out. He let Nick get a little bit ahead of him, and then left the house, closing the door behind him and checking to make sure it was locked. They had decided to take Nick's SUV because it was a little easier to get in and out of. By the time Warrick reached it, Nick was already there and had the passenger side door open, turning around so that he could back into the vehicle using his crutches as support. Warrick waited until he was sitting and then took the crutches from Nick and put them into the back seat.

As Warrick climbed into the car on the driver's side, Nick got settled into his seat and used his hands to help lift his casted leg into the car. He then pulled his other leg in and swung around so that he was facing forward. He closed the door and pulled his seat belt across his lap, fastening it and then looking straight ahead and wondering why Warrick hadn't started the car or said anything. Sweat was rolling down his face again from the exertion, but he felt like he had done a pretty good job of getting out of the house and into the car without help. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Warrick was looking at him. _ Damn it._ He tried to control his breathing but could not deny the toll this latest effort had taken on him.

Finally Warrick asked, "Uh...Nick?"

_I knew it._ "I'm fine, Warrick," Nick answered, annoyed. "Don't try to analyze me, okay? That's the shrink's job, right?"

Warrick nodded thoughtfully and then said, "Uh huh...yeah...well, is it okay if I analyze how I'm supposed to start the car with you holdin' the keys?"

Nick turned to look at him. "What?" Without saying anything, Warrick nodded toward Nick's lap. Nick looked down as well and was surprised to see that grasped tightly within the fingers of his left hand were the car keys. He was even more surprised that once he noticed them he realized that he was gripping them so hard that they were beginning to gouge into his hand. He gave a small, embarrassed laugh before handing the keys over to Warrick without looking at him. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No problem," Warrick answered genuinely as he took the keys.

* * *

Desert Palm Hospital was a hub of activity on this late morning. After insisting that Warrick leave him there and come back for him in an hour, Nick carefully maneuvered his way through the busy reception area to the elevator, got on, and pushed the button that would take him to the 5th floor where the psychiatrist's office was located. Despite the crowded lobby, he had the elevator to himself, and he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, looking up at the numbers above the door as they lit up floor by floor. When the number 5 lit up and the doors opened, he made his way out and stopped to look at the directory on the wall. Dr. James Fischer's office, 505, was down the hall to the right.

Nick smiled at the floor receptionist as he politely declined her offer of assistance and passed by her desk. As he headed down the hallway, he noticed that this floor was much quieter than the other ones he had been on during his stay in the hospital. The kind of treatment patients coming to this floor needed did not require the doctors and nurses who moved so quickly, shouting orders, or the machines that beeped and hummed throughout the night. There were no rattling dinner carts or TVs blaring from rooms full of chattering visitors. But the smell was the same. It had hit him the minute the elevator doors opened and followed him down the hallway. It was a mixture of antiseptics and medicine that ironically made him feel sick to his stomach. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the memories the smell was triggering, and knocked on the door.

The two men exchanged greetings and Nick signed some additional paperwork that was required, and then they got down to the business at hand. They sat across from each other in large, leather chairs, and the doctor opened the discussion by telling Nick that he looked good and then asked how he was feeling.

"Okay. The pain meds are working pretty good for my leg. I get kind of tired pretty easy, but…it'll get better."

Fischer nodded and smiled. "That's good to hear, Nick. But…you know…I'm not a medical doctor."

Nick let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah…okay. Um…well, I think I'm doing good. I'm sleeping okay. I mean…I dream all the time, but…not what you'd call nightmares or anything."

"No?"

"No." Nick shook his head.

"Well…okay." Fischer took some notes and then said, "I'm not so concerned about that anyway. I mean, if you're not concerned." He waited a beat to see if Nick would object. When he did not, the doctor continued. "It's normal to have nightmares…bad dreams…after a traumatic event. They might even go away and come back weeks…months…even years later. So if they become a problem…start to interfere with your life, your work…"

Nick was nodding. "I'll say something."

"Good. That's important. And remember, you can always call me if you need to talk to someone. Okay?"

"Yeah…yeah, thanks. So, uh…what are we supposed to talk about now?" Nick asked.

"Anything you like, really," answered the doctor.

"Nah." Nick shook his head. "We both know the reason I'm here is so that you can evaluate how ready I am to go back to work and how long I have to see somebody to make that happen. So what do you want to know?"

Fischer chuckled. "To the point. I like that. All right then, why don't you tell me what you know about the case. Do you know yet what's going to happen to the men who were responsible? Will you have to appear in court or give any type of depositions or testimony?"

Nick took a deep breath and then let it out. "Nope. My supervisor...Gil Grissom...he came by my house the other day to let me know what was going on with those guys. Seems like a couple of them decided to turn on the other one...gave up all the info on him...and he's going to take the fall for most of it."

_Grissom sat across the living room from Nick as he spoke. "Walsh and Juarez both gave up everything they had on Becker and in exchange received lighter sentences. Walsh will be joining Juarez in High Desert for the next five years for his part in harboring them. For the murder of Paula Davenport, Juarez is getting another 25 years tacked on to the end of his current sentence. They dropped the escape and kidnapping charges since he was willing to turn on Becker and plead out on the murder."_

_Nick nodded his head, understanding, if not liking it. But this was how the system worked. He knew that better than anyone. And he'd had his fair share of having to explain it to crime victims over the length of his career. But he had always known it didn't make them feel any better about it, and now he knew it firsthand. "And Becker?" he asked hesitantly._

_"He wasn't backing down...even with the others turning on him. Until the death penalty was dangled in front of him. He decided to plead out too. He's getting a life sentence. And they're moving him up to Ely. Maximum security."_

"How do you feel about that?" asked Fischer as he made some more notes.

Nick leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in front of him as he appeared to think about it for a minute. Finally he shrugged. "Okay, I guess." When the doctor did not respond, he elaborated. "I mean, it's what the law says they should get. It's fair."

"You mean it's fair to them? What about fair to you? Do you think it is?"

"To me? Well, yeah...I mean, they're being punished, right? And at least I came out of it better than the people they killed." Nick shrugged again.

Fischer nodded. "Better...but not unscathed. Would you like to have had your say? Faced them again?"

"Nah...what's the point? It didn't really have anything to do with me."

The doctor looked surprised and asked, "What do you mean, Nick? How could it not have anything to do with you?"

"It's just…" Nick leaned forward now, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. "It wasn't anything personal against me, you know? I was just along for the ride until they didn't need me anymore, but it's not like they did it to me for any reason." He sat back in his chair. "I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said simply.

"That's true," said Fischer, "but still…there were crimes committed against you. I don't like using the word 'victim' here, but…as a man in your profession, wouldn't you want to see justice done?"

"Their prison time is enough justice for me." When the doctor looked skeptical, Nick added, "Really. It is. I mean, if you think about it, it was kind of my…" He stopped short and quickly shook his head as if to drive the thought out of his mind. "No. It wasn't personal. And it wasn't my fault."

"What? Why on earth would it be your fault?"

_"Anyway...Grissom...I'm sorry about everything." Nick put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, looking tired. The conversation…the information overload that he was being given…it was beginning to be too much for him._

_Grissom had noticed Nick becoming visibly fatigued and was about to get up to leave when Nick's statement stopped him. He sat back down and looked at Nick. "Sorry? For what?"_

_Nick sighed. "For getting into this whole mess. If I hadn't…" He looked down and bit his lip._

"_Hadn't what? Nick, you didn't have anything to do with these guys deciding to do what they did."_

"_The opportunity was there, and they grabbed it…and me." Nick shook his head, disgusted. "I was careless. I got distracted and wasn't paying attention. I turned my back on him, and…"_

_Was that all it was? Grissom gave a half-smile. "Nick, there were armed guards in the room. You had every right to feel safe turning your back for whatever reason." When the CSI did not look convinced, he continued, "There was a failure there that let this happen, but it wasn't __your__ failure. Do you understand?"_

"_Yeah…yeah, sure," Nick answered without much enthusiasm._

"Do you really, Nick?" asked Fischer. "Or were you just trying to appease him? And me?"

"No…no, I understand. I mean, it's always going to bother me, I think…that maybe if I'd done something differently…but…" He sighed. "But yeah…logically, I know it wasn't my fault."

"And knowing that is enough for you?"

"Hey…" Nick gave a weak smile. "At least I came out of it alive. Right?"

_Grissom walked back into the living room from the kitchen and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Well, I guess I should be getting back to the lab. Thank your mother for the tea." When he saw that Nick was going to try to get up to see him out, he stopped him. _

_Nick looked relieved, if not a little embarrassed. He was glad not to have to fumble around in front of his boss, trying to do a simple thing like stand up. It was bad enough what had happened, and the last thing he needed was to have Grissom see him in another vulnerable situation and wonder if he was ever going to be ready to work again._

_Grissom had his back to Nick, about to open the front door, when he stopped and turned around. "You know, Nick…however it happened…" He paused and then said with emphasis, "You did a great job." When Nick averted his eyes and did not respond, he continued, "I mean it. I can't even imagine what it was like…what you went through. It took a lot of strength and courage to hang on until we got there. And if you hadn't kept it together…and managed to crawl up that hillside…" He shook his head. "We might never have found you." Nick caught his eye briefly before lowering his head again. "You did a great job," Grissom said again. "I'm proud of you."_

"How did that make you feel?" asked Fischer.

Nick cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure at first. But after I thought about it…" He looked at the doctor. "I think he meant it."

"And…?"

"And…" Nick nodded thoughtfully and then gave a genuine smile. "I think he's right. I did a great job."


	24. Chapter 24

**This is it! The final chapter.**

**

* * *

**

"_How did that make you feel?" asked Fischer._

_Nick cleared his throat. "I wasn't sure at first. But after I thought about it…" He looked at the doctor. "I think he meant it."_

"_And…?"_

"_And…" Nick nodded thoughtfully and then gave a genuine smile. "I think he's right. I did a great job."_

Nick stood just outside of the entrance to Desert Palm Hospital next to the roundabout where patients and visitors were dropped off and picked up. There was a bench there, and although it was currently empty he refused to sit down. He had texted Warrick that he was ready to go, so he figured the wait wouldn't be too long. Besides, he thought, if he sat down then he would have to get back up again, and the effort just wasn't worth the short rest. He could rest in the car.

He turned his head to look up the street again, but there was still no sign of Warrick. Sighing, he adjusted his position so that leaning on his crutches was a little more comfortable. Before leaving Dr. Fischer's office, he had confirmed his next two appointments with the psychiatrist. He had been honest with the doctor about everything...about how he felt about the sentencing of the convicts, about how he felt he had done a good job just by surviving the ordeal, and about how he would probably always have that twinge of doubt in his mind about whether or not he could have prevented what happened. He was honest with him about one other thing as well - that despite the promise to his mother, before today's session Nick had no intention of keeping the other appointments with Fischer...that he was sure he could convince the man that he was fine and needed no further evaluation. And it was quite possible that he might have been able to do that. But after meeting with Fischer he had realized that talking about things...evaluating them in his own mind and explaining them..._did_ make him feel better. At this point, whether he was deemed fit to return to work yet or not was irrelevant. Nick just wanted to feel better.

* * *

"How'd it go?"

"It went well," Nick answered before laughing at the surprised look on Warrick's face. "Why? You didn't think it would?"

Warrick pulled the car into Nick's driveway and turned off the engine. "No, I just didn't think you'd answer me," he laughed. Then he turned serious, nodding. "I'm glad it went okay. You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." Nick gave a half smile. "Maybe later, okay?"

"Sure...sure. So, uh..." Warrick checked his watch. "The game starts in a few minutes. You gonna turn it on?"

Nick gave him a sideways glance. "Subtle, man...real subtle. I'm assuming you want to come in and hang out tonight? Keep an eye on me?"

"That's the plan. Got my overnight stuff in the trunk." When Nick rolled his eyes at him, Warrick added, "You know you can't stay by yourself yet. Besides, your mom thinks I'm stayin'. So I'm stayin'." With that he opened the door and got out of the car, leaving Nick no opportunity to protest.

Nick sat in one corner of the sofa, his broken leg propped up on a pillow on the coffee table, and watched silently as Warrick went around making himself at home. He had turned on the television, put some of his things in the bathroom and the rest in a pile at the end of the couch, and was currently in the kitchen leaning over with his head in the refrigerator. From his spot on the couch, Nick could hear things rattling around and could see only the legs and back end of his friend.

"Man, you should have told me to stop at the store on the way back!" Warrick called out as he closed the refrigerator door and stood up straight. He came into the living room carrying one bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon and one can of Diet Sprite. "Pick one."

"Sorry." Nick took the soft drink. "Mom wanted to pick me some stuff up before she left, but I told her she didn't need to."

"No problem...I'll run out later. Otherwise it looks like we'll be fightin' over that one leftover eggroll I saw in there."

Nick laughed. "Nah...don't bother. We can get some stuff tomorrow...order some pizza or something tonight."

"All right," Warrick agreed as he sat at the other end of the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He picked up the remote and clicked it until he found the sports channel he was looking for. The two of them watched it in silence for a few moments before Warrick snickered, "Nick, man...Pabst? Seriously?"

"Don't even," Nick warned before laughing as well. "My dad left it in there."

"Your dad...yeah, right. Whatever you say, man," Warrick scoffed as he tilted the bottle up to take a drink and turned the volume up on the television.

The two friends watched TV for awhile, trading a few comments about the game and complaining about what a poor job the referees were doing. About twenty minutes into it, however, Warrick noticed that Nick had become quiet and hadn't responded to his question about whether or not he was ready to order the pizza. He looked over to find that Nick was still sitting upright in the opposite corner of the couch but that his arms were folded in front of him and his head was tilted back against the cushions, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. A soft snoring sound was coming from his nose each time he inhaled. Warrick laughed a little and shook his head, turning back to the television and feeling glad that Nick was getting a little much-needed rest. But a few minutes later it became obvious to him that this was not the case.

At first Warrick tried to ignore the small anxious sounds that occasionally came from the other man, but when they became more frequent and he sensed Nick moving, he cast a few glances that way. Finally, he settled his eyes on his friend, watching as Nick shifted uncomfortably and listening as he mumbled incoherently. Warrick could sense an escalation in his distress, and just as he was wondering if he should wake him up, Nick suddenly jerked upright with a gasp, fully awake.

It took Nick a moment to realize what had happened as he breathed hard, blinking his eyes. But he heard the TV and looked up at the screen, then noticed Warrick out of the corner of his eye. His friend was looking at the TV as well, but Nick knew he was aware of what had just happened.

"Bad dream?" Warrick asked without looking at him.

Nick cringed and cleared his throat. "Yeah…sort of…can't really remember. I think…uh…" He reached behind the sofa for his crutches. "I think I'm gonna go lie down for a little bit."

Warrick watched as Nick worked his way up off of the couch and headed toward his bedroom. It took everything he had to stay still and not get up to help his friend, but he knew that _not_ getting up was exactly the kind of help that Nick needed right now. He heard the click of the bedroom door as it shut and then and turned his attention back to the television.

Nick sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned his crutches up against the nightstand. He sighed and ran his hand across his face. He hadn't lied to Warrick. The truth was that he couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamed, only that he _had_ been dreaming. Just like most of the ones he had been having since coming home, it didn't seem to be too bad despite the fact that it had awaken him with a start. Maybe his nerves were just on edge, that's all. Dr. Fischer had offered him some medication to help him sleep better, but he had refused. He hoped that it was something he could take care of on his own, or even better that it would just go away altogether. But every time he thought things were improving, it seemed he would have a setback. _I'll give it a few more days. If it's not better by then... _He eased himself back onto the bed and lay down, and it was only moments after his head hit the pillow that he was asleep.

"_You got away?" _

_Nick froze in the bed, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. The room was dark, and he could hear the television going in the living room. But the voice…the voice had been here…in his bedroom. And it was still here._

"_I thought they'd kill you too…when they took my car."_

_His heart beat faster at the words. Slowly he sat up in the bed and stared straight ahead, afraid to look around the room. But she beckoned him._

"_I'm glad they didn't."_

_It was coming from the left. He turned, and she was there. Despite the darkness, Paula Davenport's face was clear as she sat on the window seat mere feet from the bed. She looked tired, but not injured, and very much alive. But he knew better._

"_Damn right you know better."_

_His stomach clenched at the sound of the man's voice coming from the right side of the room. He couldn't stop himself from looking at Ron Becker who stood by the closet door._

"_Yeah, we killed her. Should have killed you too. Tried petty hard. But there's still time for that."_

_Nick turned back to look at Paula. "I'm sorry. I tried to help you. I'm sorry."_

_She smiled sweetly at him. "It's not your fault."_

"_Like hell it's not."_

_Nick jerked at the sound of Becker's voice near his ear. The man was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Nick tried to back away but felt the man's hand grab him by the throat._

"_You should have just done like we fuckin' said," he whispered. "But you pissed…us…off!" He was shouting in Nick's face now as he tightened his grip on the CSI's throat. "You made us do it." He tilted his head toward the left side of the room. "Look at her." When Nick did not move, he shook him and yelled again, "Look at her, motherfucker!"_

_Nick did as he was told, but wished he hadn't. She was still there, smiling at him, a hole in the side of her head now oozing blood that flowed in a slow, thick stream down her neck, spreading across her chest as it met the fabric of her blouse. He turned his frightened eyes back to Becker just in time to see the knife._

Warrick was up and running before he knew it, instinct taking over the second he heard the terrified scream coming from the bedroom. He had already reached the door before he even realized that it was Nick's voice he had heard. It was seconds after that as he burst into the room that he realized it might not be a fire or an intruder but rather a dream that was causing the sound. His dream or Nick's, of that he still wasn't sure...not until his eyes adjusted to the dim room and he saw his friend sitting straight up in the bed.

And it wasn't until he saw Nick scrambling to get out of the bed that Warrick moved from where he stood motionless just inside the door. He went quickly to the bedside, reaching it just as Nick was starting to get his good leg over the edge. "Whoa...whoa...whoa...take it easy, man!" He grabbed Nick's arms to keep him from getting any further out of the bed and sat down on the edge of it, effectively blocking Nick's leg from moving as well.

"Get off me! Get the _fuck_ off of me!" Nick wrenched his arms away from Warrick and tried to push his way past the other man to get out of the bed.

"Nick, man, c'mon!" Warrick grabbed for the flailing arms again and held on tighter this time as Nick continued to fight to get away. "Stop it! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"I'll kill you! I swear to God I'll _kill_ you, motherfucker, if you don't _get _the fuck _off_ of me!" Nick shouted as he pulled harder to get away.

"It's okay! You're okay! Nick!" Warrick gave his friend a hard shake and yelled again, "NICK!" Abruptly, Nick stopped struggling and sat still, breathing hard and looking frantically around the room. Even in the minimal light Warrick could see that Nick's eyes were wide and confused. He let go of him and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. Both men squinted in the sudden brightness. "You okay, man?"

"What...?" Nick was still panting as he took one more look around the room before realization set in. _Aw shit._ He lowered his head and put his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "Jesus," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry about." Warrick put his hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it assuringly before standing up, figuring it was better not to make a big deal out of it.

Nick looked up. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"A little after eight. You gonna just stay and go back to sleep?"

Nick shook his head. "I'll be out. Just...give me a minute...okay?"

"Yeah...sure." Warrick left the room, closing the door behind him and went back to sitting on the couch. He picked up the remote and flipped around the channels. He was still searching for something to watch several minutes later when Nick came out of the bedroom and joined him, propping his leg up on the coffee table again.

Before saying anything, Nick reached for the small bottle on the side table and then shook out two of the large white pills into his hand. He tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with the remains of his can of Diet Sprite. He settled back into the couch with a sigh and a grimace.

Warrick stopped his channel surfing, muting the sound and leaving the TV on what looked like an outdoorsy channel, and watched Nick. "Having some pain?"

"Yeah," Nick acknowledged. "A little." He cleared his throat. "Did you get the pizza?"

"No, I was waiting for you. Want to order it?"

Nick shook his head. "I'm not hungry. You go ahead."

"Nah, that's okay. I don't need it...filled up on some cheese crackers I found in the cabinet."

"Man..." Nick laughed halfheartedly. "Those have been up there for like six months."

"Tasted like it," Warrick huffed kiddingly, giving Nick a sideways glance. He noticed that Nick was looking at the television now, his hand at his mouth as he chewed on a nail. "So…are we gonna talk about it?"

Nick answered without looking at him. "Nope."

"Okay then…you don't have to. I will."

"It was a nightmare, Warrick, okay? I have 'em. Is that so surprising?"

"No, but…"

"Look…I talked to the shrink about it," Nick interrupted. "He said it's normal. I just need to let him know if they start…you know…if they bother me."

Warrick laughed. "If they bother you? Sure sounded to me like it bothered you."

"Well what do you want me to do, huh?" Nick asked irritably. "You want me to call him up cryin' about how I couldn't get a good nap this afternoon? Jesus, Warrick, if I wanted a babysitter I could have let my mom stay instead of you."

"Too late for that. I'm here and you're stuck with me." Warrick waited to gauge Nick's response to that statement, but there was no response. To Warrick his friend looked defeated…resigned to what he had said. He was stuck with him. "Look, man…I know how you feel." When Nick shot him an angry look, he quickly said, "Okay…I don't. I don't know exactly how you feel. But…I just want to make sure you're okay. I just want to help see you through this."

Nick sighed. "I appreciate it, but…I can handle it, okay? I need a little help with some things, but you don't need to go all overboard."

"I just want to help, that's all." Warrick shrugged. "I'm just…I'm really sorry about all of this."

"It's not your fault."

"Feels like it." Warrick looked away, studying something on the other side of the room. "I never shoulda…" He shook his head. "If I hadn't screwed up…"

"How the hell did _you_ screw up?" Nick asked incredulously.

"I got distracted. I wasn't paying attention…screwed up logging the stuff on the paper, and then I made you turn around…turn your back, and…" He stopped short when he realized that Nick was trying to keep from laughing. "I'm serious, man. What the hell's so funny?"

"I know." Nick grew serious again. "I know it's not. It's just that…I said the same thing to Grissom…that I thought _I _screwed up…that it was my fault."

"You wouldn't have turned around if I hadn't missed a number on the page…called your name while you were getting that guy's DNA."

"It doesn't matter, man." Nick shook his head. "It happened. It wasn't your fault or mine. It's over now, and everything turned out okay."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Did it?"

"Hey…I'm here. Right?"

"Yeah, but…" Warrick looked at him.

"But what?" Nick questioned him. "You think I'm messed up now, don't you?"

"I don't think you're messed up, man. I just want you to be okay."

"I _am_, Warrick."

"Well, excuse me if it takes me awhile to get used to that," Warrick said sarcastically, getting defensive. "You know, this wasn't easy on me either." He saw the look on Nick's face and stopped him before he could say anything. "Save it. I'm not sayin' I had it as bad as you, allright? I'm just sayin'..." His voice got softer as he continued, "It was hard, man. I mean...we went after you...me and Brass...as soon as we could, but...we were just too far behind. And then we found the car and...that lady..."

"Paula," Nick said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Paula Davenport. Jim said that was her name. I yelled at her...tried to warn her...but..." Nick shook his head.

"Yeah...well...after that...wasn't nothin' we could do. We just sat around at PD in that shithole town doing _nothin _for days. I never felt so helpless."

"How _did_ you find me?" Nick asked, suddenly curious. He had heard little since his rescue about the investigation.

Warrick sighed. "Brass told you about after they left you...how they switched cars?"

"Yeah...and killed the driver."

"Right, well...that lady...Paula...her plate was on the truck. Walsh's prints were inside...led us to him...first lead we really had. We found some evidence at his place...interviewed him...and he rolled on them...told us they were heading to Caliente. We found out Becker had been screwin' around with his attorney and she just happens to live in Caliente...busted him at her place. Then Juarez turned himself in...broke, hungry, and scared shitless."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "So then what? They told you where I was?"

"No way...not Becker, at least. He said...he said you were dead." Warrick took a deep breath before continuing. "Brass said he was just screwin' with us, but...I didn't know what to believe."

This latest turn in the conversation was making Nick feel a little nauseous. He didn't know if it was the repeated mention of the convicts' names or just the memories of what had been happening to him at the time Warrick was describing, but either way he was beginning to regret asking about it.

"Then Juarez...he wanted to talk...tried to tell us where you were, but he didn't know exactly. Grissom pinned it down though...used the info and narrowed it down. Anyway..." Warrick sighed and lowered his head, studying his hands. "Thing is...we still didn't know...you know...if you..." He shook his head and did not finish.

Both men were quiet for a moment before Nick finally said quietly, "I wasn't really sure anymore myself."

Warrick looked at him. "Hey...what you said to Brass...when you thought Juarez was gonna shoot you, and you said...you know...that you didn't care if..." His voice trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean that?" Warrick thought for a moment that Nick wasn't going to answer him. So he started to say something else...to tell him he was sorry...to forget he had said anything, but then Nick cleared his throat and spoke.

"La muerte es una vida vivida. La vida es una muerte que viene." Nick mumbled the words without looking at his friend.

"Uh..." The strange response threw Warrick for a loop. "How's that again?"

Nick looked up. "Death is a life lived. Life is a coming death." He shrugged. "I was trying to crawl up, you know? Looking up...and it was spray painted under the overpass. I'd been through so much, and I guess...at some point...I'd had enough, and I…I kept thinking about that… 'a coming death', you know? So yeah…I meant it."

"Were you sorry he didn't do it?"

"I don't know, man. Not now I'm not. Then? No…I guess not. I didn't really wanna die, you know? But…I felt helpless too. I just wanted out of there. I didn't think there was any way…" Nick shook his head. "I still can't believe you found me."

"I still can't believe you were alive when we did."

Nick just nodded wordlessly in response, a silent understanding between the two friends. A few moments later he said, "So, uh…since you're all into this helping me out thing…I guess you wouldn't mind driving me back to see Dr. Fischer on Friday?"

Warrick grinned. "I guess you wouldn't mind buying me lunch if I do?"

"You got it." Nick grinned back. "Speaking of…wanna order that pizza? I'm feeling a little hungry now. Number's on a magnet on the fridge." As Warrick got up and made his way to the kitchen, Nick picked up the remote and took the television off of mute."

From the kitchen, Warrick's voice called out, "Don't think I'm gonna sit there all night watching some nature show. Turn that shit off."

Nick laughed, leaning back onto the couch and propping his other leg up onto the coffee table next to his injured one, and then aimed the remote at the TV. He did not change the channel, however. Instead he raised the volume higher and set the remote down, laughing again as the sounds of chattering birds filled the room.

* * *

**There you have it! It's finished now. I want to really thank everyone who has taken the time to read, review, comment, offer suggestions, and let me bounce ideas off of them. It was knowing you were out there wanting to read this that kept me motivated to keep going. I really appreciate it! I'm not sure what else I may have in store, but there will be more stories coming, that's for sure. I hope you'll stay tuned. Thanks again for all of the support on this one! :-)**


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